The Dust of Ages
by sinverguenza
Summary: Peter and Claire were both caught up in this crazy, never ending circle a long time ago.  The real question was this: if they could change how things turned out, would they?  Rated for themes.  Canon PeterClaire.  NOW COMPLETE
1. Time Stops

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Lastly, this fic contains some very heavy themes. It's also clearly stated that this fic is Peter/Claire. So if you don't like that pairing, go read something else.

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_She has never been a patient girl, so it's kind of funny that it's turned out this way._

_But she waits, because she has to. She doesn't like it, but there's no other choice at this point. She waits because there's nothing else she can do._

_For a brief moment she lets herself think about what's to come. What it all means. The consequences of her decisions. Their decisions._

_She's scared to death, absolutely terrified._

_She unfolds the letter when she's in her seat on the plane. She reads it for the billionth time in two days. It's written in his terrible handwriting._

_"I admit that it's easier this way too, both for you and for me. Saying goodbye is something that I hate more than anything in the world, and you and I have had to do it way too often."_

_She sighs and tucks the letter back into her pocket. This is where it all ends, or begins, and she's not sure which is which anymore._

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Claire didn't have the grades for William & Mary, but that was where she had wanted to go. Nathan had pulled a few strings (not many – not very important ones at that), and she'd had a nice little apartment not far away from the historic section of town.

By herself, though. Always by herself. Nathan had insisted, and Bennet had backed him up. It was just easier that way.

Nathan picked Claire up from the airport when she came home for Thanksgiving in her junior year. Didn't send a car or his P.A. He was slowly learning how to do things right with her.

Of course, it helped to have Heidi coaching him. Heidi was always careful to make sure Claire was happy and taken care of. Claire's stubborn, she said. She would never ask for help. Would never say if she needed something. She told Nathan sternly that just because Claire was 20 didn't mean he was off the hook for parenting duties.

Heidi commented quietly one night as she and Nathan were getting into bed that Claire seemed listless and tired.

Nathan had just laughed and said that she sure as hell wasn't sick. Heidi rolled her eyes. He never worried, not about the stuff that he should be. So like a man, Heidi thought.

Heidi watched her carefully at dinner and fed her the nicest bits of the turkey anyway, just to be safe. She urged second helpings and then a third.

Claire ate well and the next day she seemed fine. She went with them to the theater and joked with her little brothers and even got her grandmother to smile once. So Heidi didn't worry about it anymore.

-----

It was just a quick visit over winter break, but it Nathan thought it was really nice of her to make the effort.

On Christmas Eve she chattered brightly to Peter on the phone when it was her turn. He called from…wherever he was at the moment. Srpska. Or somewhere equally unpronounceable. He was traveling non-stop these days, helping Mohinder to contact other extraordinary individuals, to bring their abilities to the greatest collective good.

Nathan respected the work, sure he did, but he couldn't help that when he spoke about it it was with an air of sarcasm.

She was only there two nights. Her family, her biological (but not quite real) family waved as she wheeled her suitcase out to the taxi, which would take her to the airport, back to Texas for the rest of her winter break.

She was such a nice girl, said Nathan, and he was glad that he had gotten to know her, that their tenuous relationship, or friendship, more like, had developed in the last five years.

Mrs. Petrelli shooed the boys back into the house and remarked that while Claire wasn't quite a Petrelli, she was a dear part of their odd little conglomeration.

-----

She came for Easter, and Mrs. Petrelli eyed the healthy scoop of mashed potatoes on Claire's plate, and made a comment about the Freshman Fifteen.

Claire pretended not to notice.

Heidi rolled her eyes. Claire was well beyond a freshman, and besides, so what if she'd put on a few pounds? It wasn't all that much anyway.

-----

School had just let out. It was late May, but it was cool, the coldest May that Nathan could remember in New York City.

There was a frantic knocking at his door late one night. He opened it to find Claire on the doorstep, eyes rimmed in red, no make-up, hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. He hadn't asked questions, just paid the cab that was waiting.

Heidi walked in tying her robe, and was quick to shush all of Claire's mumblings about the charges she made onto the credit card; the one Nathan had given her for emergencies.

She asked if Claire was safe, and if everything was okay. Claire nodded and all she said was that she'd had a fight, a big one with her dad, and that she wanted to stay here for awhile and that she'd flown from Odessa and was very, very tired.

They didn't ask any more questions than that. When Claire tearfully told them that she'd pay them back for the airfare, Nathan shook his head and hugged her. Heidi told her to get some sleep, and Claire didn't come out of her room until well after noon the next day.

By that time, Bennet had called.

By that time, everyone knew.

A/N –thanks to my mm buddy viv1 for playing friend and beta!


	2. This Side of the Blue

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Getting a B.A. in Social Science wasn't something that anyone ever hopes for. It was a mushy degree and Nathan hated the way it squished in his mouth when his associates asked what Claire was majoring in. But that's what NYU's online program offered, and that's what she was going to get.

NYU was not as prestigious as William and Mary, and Claire cried bitterly when she had to transfer. But she had seemed to understand, had nodded when Nathan and Bennet presented their game plan.

Claire would live with Nathan, like she asked to, do NYU online, and then…who knew. It was too far away to say. They just both knew that Claire couldn't continue to go to school in another state, to live alone. Not while she was pregnant, let alone when the baby actually came.

The online program was easy. Claire moped around the house a few weeks until Heidi bought her a gym pass and a personal trainer that she had used with the last boy. The exercise seemed to help, though Claire still refused to leave the house unless she had to.

Claire was six months or so along. Still didn't look pregnant, unless she pulled her clothes close to her body. Which she never did.

Bennet was still pretty angry with Claire, though he and his wife telephoned regularly on Wednesday afternoons, came out to visit once a month. Heidi noticed that there was still a stilted awkwardness there, mostly stemming from the fact that, well...

Claire…still wasn't speaking on the issue that interested the Bennet's (and the Petrelli's) very much.

Hadn't ever, in fact. On the first day she had come to their home, Nathan had told her seriously that this wasn't a game and that he needed to know, needed to know who the father was. That at the very least the father deserved to know that he had a child somewhere.

Claire had shook her head slowly, and refused to answer, deaf to all of Nathan's impassioned pleadings and logical arguments, though near the end a tear had snaked slowly down her cheek.

At that Heidi had all but forced Nathan into the kitchen, and hissed at him savagely that something _very bad_ might have happened to Claire and that if he could act like a father instead of a monster Claire might eventually confide in him.

So the subject was forbidden, stricken from all conversation. Mrs. Petrelli made a few comments at first; ones that made Claire's shoulders visibly shrink into her seat. Heidi tried never to cross her mother-in-law unless it was necessary, but she'd saved up a few years of righteous indignance and made it very clear that the subject of the baby's father was off limits.

Heidi liked the girl. She didn't know why she had liked her so much from the first minute she'd set eyes on her. She should have hated her. She had a right to hate her. But she didn't. Maybe it was the soft spot for the downtrodden that she'd always had, but Claire was a cause that Heidi began to champion.

-----

It was too late for an abortion, obviously. Adoption was mentioned, briefly. Claire flatly and vehemently refused, and no one tried to talk her out of it.

So Nathan found a doctor, a good one. Claire had been responsible enough to find a clinic in Williamsburg while she was there, before they'd all known. When it was her secret.

But the doctor in New York was one of the best in the City, the best money could buy. He carefully tracked Claire's progress, and announced a due date in late August.

This was all second-hand of course. Claire wouldn't let anyone come with her to appointments.

-----

Nathan told Peter about Claire's pregnancy during one of their sporadic phone calls. Peter hadn't gotten angry like he thought he would. Just seemed sad and…disappointed? Perhaps. Which was understandable, to Nathan. They'd all hoped for something better than this for Claire.

Peter came as soon as he heard, his smile open, or as open as he could make it. She jumped into his arms when he walked through Nathan's door, hadn't even let him drop the bag that was over his shoulder.

They had a nice visit. He took her to their old haunts, the places they'd gone when they had both been living in New York. They went to movies and long lunches that she declared to be 'gut-bursting'. He ordered dessert, even though he didn't like it very much. Being pregnant deserved extra calories, he'd said, as he nudged the little dish of panna cotta toward her.

He took several quiet walks with his niece around the block, the crisp spring air biting at their cheeks. He'd asked her carefully if she felt prepared, and she'd nodded sedately.

Of course he wanted to ask who the father was, but he didn't. She never told him anything until she was ready to. He had learned that years ago. Plus he knew that she'd probably been ridden pretty hard by the rest of the family, and Peter figured that him yelling was the last thing she needed.

Peter wanted desperately to know what asshole, what unthinking bastard had done this to her. Because whoever the guy was he was he sure as hell hadn't stuck around to see the aftermath.

Nathan had suggested Heidi's theory about the _very bad_ to his brother, and Peter barely kept his temper at the thought of someone…taking advantage of Claire.

He had to believe that she would tell him if that were the case, though. He had to believe that she'd give him the details eventually…when she wanted to.

But Claire didn't seem sad about it – didn't seem upset or ashamed. Rather she seemed proud and loving, and rested her little hands on her middle, even though there wasn't much to show, really. She didn't look very pregnant at all.

She had let Peter touch her middle, briefly, and he'd felt the small bump, the pressing warmness that was so foreign to him. But not unlikable.

The closest he got to asking was the day before he left. Before he got on that plane, he was going to ask her. Because what could it hurt, at that point?

All his courage died, though, when she grasped onto his arms abruptly in the terminal, and thanked him sincerely for coming. She said that she'd needed his visit, needed him to be kind to her. Because no one else was, really.

Of course, he'd said, and told her that he would always be there for her.

She got choked up for a minute, and wiped a tear off her cheek quickly. She probably hoped that he wouldn't notice but he did.

She took a deep breath and then told him that she was ready and prepared to raise this child on her own, but that…but that she hoped that he would be around. For her and her baby. That she knew she could do it all on her own, but she didn't want to.

Peter nodded and wrapped his arm around her, and told her that he'd do anything, everything he could to help with the baby. Whatever she asked.

Just be here, she said.

You got it, he replied.

She'd smiled and nodded and tucked her hands deeper into her jeans. And then she switched gears abruptly and teased him about his hair, tugging on a piece that was tucked behind his ear.

When are you gonna get a haircut, scruffy, is what she said. And she patted his head, smoothed his hair back down, her lips smiling at him

He smiled back, sort of, and then looked away quickly.


	3. Johnny Come Lately

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. 

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Nathan thought things really perked up for Claire after Peter's visit – made sense. Claire was close to her uncle. Nathan and Heidi thought that, with some time, Claire might open up about it to one of them.

She was getting out more, being more active. It was a good thing. She even went home for a visit, to Odessa. Bennet told Nathan that it went well, very well, but that Claire had said she preferred to stay in New York, no offense.

Things got better. Claire smiled more. The Petrelli's collectively started to relax about the circumstances at hand.

As Peter had said privately to Nathan and Heidi late one night, even if it wasn't an ideal situation, it's not like Claire was a child. She was almost 21. Old enough - certainly not a teenage statistic.

After a few more weeks Heidi prodded very, _very _gently for the details surrounding the father. When she received only a blank stare, she made an appointment for Claire with a therapist that one of the gals in Heidi's book club had mentioned.

Claire went religiously, never discussed what was going on, and the Petrelli's never asked.

She spent a lot of time locked in her room after that.

-----

Peter emailed her every few days. When he was somewhere with net access at least.

The stilted, short little emails that she sent him back were nothing like the long, rambly ones she used to send him when she was younger. The ones that chattered about her school and her day and were filled with odd little conglomerations of letters and numbers that he would have to squint and study and try to decipher as a facial expression of some sort.

Actually he used to call her on the phone, for awhile there, too. They had had nice conversations, he thought. He'd used to really look forward to them.

He didn't remember exactly why or how they had stopped talking so much, but it was probably his fault.

Peter knew that he'd promised her that he would be there for her. He intended on keeping the promise. It's just that he and Mohinder were so very busy, and Mohinder could barely keep up with the work unless Peter was helping him out.

Mohinder never guilt tripped him. This was all his choice. Besides, its not like he would actually be doing any good for Claire in New York. Despite what she seemed to think. Nathan was good. Heidi was more than good.

But for some reason she wanted him there. At least that's what she'd said to him the last time he was in New York.

She never tossed it up in his face, never recalled his promise. He was grateful for that. He already felt guilty enough as it was.

She doesn't say much when she replies to the emails, but she's not exactly rude, so he keeps emailing.

-----

The baby was born on a hot, sweltering day in August. Early, nearly three weeks early.

Claire had been lying on the floor in the sunroom. The tiled floors were cool, and Claire often stretched out across them. Some days Heidi thought she resembled a cat – perfectly feline except for the bump in her middle.

Really, Claire was quite lucky. She had none of the strange puffiness in the face that some women had when pregnant (Heidi included). Claire was positively ethereal when pregnant. They all agreed, even Peter when he visited in July. He'd been very cute with his little niece, had patted her stomach and her hair, told her what a great mother she'd be.

Nathan nodded. Peter had been right. It wasn't perfect or ideal, but she was going to be okay.

Claire's water broke on the cool tile one morning. She'd shrieked and called for her stepmother. Lucky that Heidi had been home so that Claire didn't have to mess with an ambulance or, god forbid, a cab.

They drove quickly to Mt. Sinai, Heidi telling the boys to keep an eye on their sister. Monty squeezed Claire's fingers, his little boy hands doing the best they could to comfort.

C-Section, pronounced the doctor briskly after he'd been scrubbed. Heidi asked why, and the doctor brusquely said that Claire was too small, and that he wasn't taking any risks.

Heidi felt Claire tense, and she knew that Claire couldn't explain why the stitches would heal immediately, that she had hoped that the doctor might change his mind at the last minute.

But he didn't, and Heidi dialed Nathan's cell phone from the waiting room. She got the boys some juice and called the nanny to have them picked up. She called Nathan, who said he was in D.C., but would try to make it home tonight. She called Mrs. Petrelli, who was visiting friends in Connecticut and said to take a lot of pictures.

When Heidi went back in, Claire was nearly in tears, all alone in her small hospital room. Claire gritted her fists and said that this was _not fair_, that everything was s_upposed to be_ in three weeks, that everyone was going to _be here_ in three weeks.

Heidi tried to comfort her, but what could she say? At the very least she was able to tell her that the Bennet's were catching the very next flight available. She told her to try and keep calm and brushed the hair off of Claire's face until they wheeled her into the surgery area.

After the nanny came for the boys, Heidi ventured into the surgery area. Claire looked agitated, and when she saw Heidi, she waved her arms frantically and told Heidi to call Peter. That she wanted him to come.

Peter was in London, last she'd heard, but Heidi didn't want to upset the girl, so she started rummaging through her purse for the last number she'd been given for her brother-in-law.

The line was ringing when Heidi told Claire not to expect much, that Peter had planned on being here in a week or so, closer to the due date.

Claire was nearly panting with pain and she told Heidi to shut up and ask him anyway. It really surprised Heidi until she remembered the fingernail marks that Heidi herself had left in Nathan's arms during her first labor experience.

When the line crackled through she was greeted by a distracted voice, and Heidi breathlessly began to explain to Peter that Claire had just gone into labor, and that she was asking for him.

Peter's voice stumbled nervously. He said he was in Glasgow and that he couldn't do the Hiro-travel-pop thing; that he hadn't even tried to do it in years.

Claire, her eyes reeling with pain as another contraction hit her, grabbed the phone from Heidi's hand. She practically screamed into the phone that that wasn't true, that she knew Peter could do it if he just tried hard enough and would he just freaking _get _here?

Heidi never heard the answer. She just put the phone away and scrubbed up when the nurse directed her to. She had mentally prepared herself to help Claire through this, somehow, and was absolutely _floored _when she saw Peter come shooting through the doors of the surgery prep area, his dark eyes frantically darting around the room.

Peter didn't even seem to see Heidi, didn't greet her at all, just insisted on going into the room with Claire to no one in particular. Heidi said that only one person was allowed in. He turned to the head nurse and tersely asked for some scrubs.

Peter finally noticed his sister-in-law. He told Heidi that he was an RN (like she'd forgotten) and that he really thought that Claire would want him there. To make sure everything went smoothly.

She didn't argue. Just walked into the surgery with a mask held up to her mouth and asked Claire if she wanted Peter.

They'd already started the meds. Claire's eyes were clouded, just a little confused, but she squeaked out the word through soft lips – _Please_.


	4. Hide and Seek

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Peter sat in the chair next to Claire's bed, exhausted and still a little nervous about the attending physicians' grumbles about having security come and escort him out.

But all that was over now. Peter had thrown a fit of gigantic proportions - threatened all sorts of lawsuits, and name-dropped every obstetrician that he'd ever worked with, every study he could think of or make sound convincing.

In the end it had worked. Claire's doctor had relented, and she'd given birth naturally.

She named him Daniel.

His middle name was Noah, after her dad.

Mrs. Petrelli rolled her eyes and made a comment about 'biblical southerners'. But no one seemed to mind. Everyone was happy, ecstatic.

A name for each of her fathers, she said with a smile on her face. Then she announced that she had given her son the last name Petrelli. It shocked Nathan to the point where he needed to sit down.

Claire merely touched the soft cheeks of the baby nestled against her, and said that she had grown so close to all of them, felt so connected to the Petrelli's during the pregnancy, that she wanted to thank them in a small way.

Heidi understood then. Claire meant to honor them, and while the reasoning and execution were a little awkward, the sentiment was…very sweet.

Besides, as Nathan said, little Daniel really looked like a Petrelli. He had Claire's mouth, for certain, but the rest, well. Full on Petrelli. He had a long torso and dark hair that curled around his ears – so much hair!

Claire made a sarcastic remark about Peter's long locks, that Daniel would probably get a haircut before Peter did. She was never too tired to tease him, thought Heidi.

Daniel also had the beautiful Petrelli eyes that Nathan and Peter and her boys had all lucked out on. Large and dark and varnished in gold, framed by long eyelashes

Bennet turned to goo, quite literally, as soon as he laid eyes on his grandson. It was odd to see such a large, stoic man nearly cowed by the tiny face that peeked out of a red blanket. And Claire's mother was over the moon, frantically ordering them to use antiseptic gel every three seconds.

Claire was glowing, a proud new mother with pink cheeks as Heidi circled her, taking dozens of photos. Claire and Bennet. Claire and Nathan. Claire and her brothers. Two with Claire and Peter, because Claire said she blinked in the first one.

It was a beautiful day, not even marred when the CNA brought the birth certificate papers. No one noticed but Peter; they were too taken with the little creature with tiny toenails.

The CNA helped her to sit up a bit, propped a pillow behind Claire's back so she could lean over the table to write. She picked up a pen and filled out her name, then Daniel's.

Peter tried not to stare at the line, at I that /I line, pretended to look away when her pen paused over the piece of paper.

And then she caught him staring. Just a quick flick of her eyes to his before he looked away.

Claire cleared her throat softly, and asked the CNA if she could fill that line out later.

------

Claire and Daniel lived for nearly three months in Nathan Petrelli's home. She had a little wooden bassinette in her old room, and spent most of her time there. She emerged for meals and sometimes she'd come out in the evenings, sometimes with Daniel, sometimes alone because he was napping.

She went to the gym for an hour three days a week. Claire would let Heidi watch Daniel in that time. The only time Claire spent away from her son. Heidi had insisted that exercise after the first one was crucial in order to stay out of Mom Pants, and somehow convinced Claire to keep up the gym membership.

But really, Heidi knew it was more than that. Exercise released endorphins, and it got Claire out of the house for a little bit. Which was good for Claire.

All of the Petrelli's loved Daniel. Mrs. Petrelli was known to dawdle the hand of the child, and Nathan, wonder of wonders, fed him a bottle every once in awhile. And there was no one more baby-crazy than Heidi, who would have had ten children if she'd had her way.

Peter was still traveling with Mohinder a lot, but tried to make it a point to visit New York more often. Usually on the weekend. He would stay with his brother when he did, and was one of the few people Claire permitted into her room. He always left the door open, wide open, and Heidi had grown used to the sound of Peter bouncing the baby as he walked the floor and chatted about this and that with Claire.

It was over dinner during one of his weekend visits that Claire announced she was moving out. That she'd found a little apartment in Chelsea with great rent, and she was going to be gone in a week.

Just like that. Said it very matter-of-factly.

May as well have dropped a bomb in the middle of Heidi's chicken marsala.

Why and how were at the top of Nathan's list, and he tried not to yell when he said the words.

Claire said that it was nothing against all of them, just that she thought she needed her own space, that she and Daniel needed to have their own place. She'd loved her time here, real-

Nathan interrupted her loudly, and asked how in the hell she was going to pay for it all.

Peter watched as she took a brave little breath and said that she had found a job.

Nathan was at his nastiest, saying tersely that whatever a 21-year-old in her position could make money at wouldn't pay enough to keep her in an apartment. He added the word _legally _in an ominous fashion.

The words tripped out of her mouth quickly, before anyone could interrupt. She had found a job doing transcription work from home, so she could stay home with Daniel. That she was still going to school online and she was going to work and it was all going to be fine.

Nathan snorted and got up from the table abruptly, throwing his napkin onto the table as he shot a dirty look at his daughter. He marched purposefully into his office.

The rest of the family was deathly silent as they sat at the dinner table. Peter wouldn't look at Claire's face. He just gripped and re-gripped the tablecloth that spilled onto his lap.

Heidi winced when she heard her husband ask tersely if Bennet was there. She turned to Claire when the shouting began.

Claire tried to speak to her, but Heidi just shook her head and raised a hand softly, told Claire that she was _not _ready for this.

Claire smiled sadly at her dinner plate, and slipped away from the table.

Peter followed.

She told him to go away as she stamped up the stairs.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes, just getting madder and madder. And then he went up the stairs. She didn't want to talk, fine. Well he did.

He pounded at Claire's door and called her name, that if she didn't answer _right then_ he was going to go in.

But she did answer. She said just a minute and he heard her undoing the lock on the door. She opened the door but did not invite him in, just turned and went back to fiddling with some clothes in a drawer.

Peter shook his head in frustration and tried not to yell as he spoke to her. Why was she shutting him out like this? What was wrong, what had he done? They had been close, really close, he thought. She used to trust him. What had he done wrong?

She played dumb at first, said that nothing was wrong, nothing at all. And that she trusted him a lot, of course!

She spoke the last words with a healthy dose of sarcasm mixed with an amount of anger that took him aback for a moment. Peter didn't have any clue why she was mad at _him_. He hadn't done anything.

Then she tersely invited him to leave her room.

He said that this was bullshit, and she angrily told him not to cuss in front of the baby, gestured at the bassinette.

This silenced him for a minute, but then he tried again.

He hoped his voice was calmer as he spoke this time. She hadn't told him about the baby. She didn't tell him about moving out. Why?

Claire turned away from him, her hands leaning on the dresser that held Daniel's baby clothes. She said that she had just told him about moving out, that she hadn't known about it till just this afternoon.

And then she faced him.

As for the baby…her baby. That was her business.

And she looked at him for a long, long time.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. He left her then, went back down the stairs to the sounds of his big brother's voice echoing off the walls.


	5. Bachelorette

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Like most family crises, the Petrelli's (and the Bennet's) got over it. Nathan had a new theory on Claire's recent influx of cash flow. He figured that the father of Claire's baby had given her some money and she, for some ungodly reason, had decided to keep the details from the rest of them.

It was bad though, said Nathan darkly. Very bad. Something very fishy was going on, and he didn't like it. Didn't like her sneaking around and keeping _secrets_.

Nathan said 'secrets' like it was a dirty word.

Peter thought it wasn't particularly a bad idea on Claire's part to refrain from oversharing with her volatile father. And he was glad that she had the money, though he would have happily given her some, if she needed it.

Peter would've still liked to strangle the asshole that did this to Claire, that forced Daniel to live with a half-blank birth certificate. Money or not.

As for Nathan's theory about the money…well, on the day Claire moved, Peter had helped her get her stuff packed up and into the movers boxes. The movers were showing up at Nathan's house at 8 a.m. on the dot, and the lady on the phone had warned ominously that they _wouldn't _wait around.

Claire was no morning person, and Peter was, so he was happy to help get it all in order. He was in town for the weekend and it just made sense.

It didn't take long. She didn't have much stuff. When she paid the movers on the stoop of Nathan's house, he saw her pull a thick roll of money from her little purse. Fifty-dollar bills. The wad of money was ridiculously round, to mobster movie proportions.

She'd peeled off seven of them and stuck the rest back in her purse as she started to hail a cab. That's when he put his hand on her arm and insisted on driving her.

She shrugged and said okay…but it wasn't necessary.

Well it certainly _was _necessary in Peter's mind. That much money in her purse, alone? He wasn't going to take the risk, and he kept thinking about it as he drove both her and Daniel over to the new place.

Besides, he wanted to see the place, was the first of her family to do it, he knew. It seemed safe enough when he pulled up to the front. It had a doorman and there were families walking along the tree-lined streets. The neighborhood was quiet and clean.

She shook her purse before they got out of the car and asked if Peter would mind carrying Daniel in. And then she smiled at him teasingly and asked unless he'd prefer to carry her purse?

Peter chuckled and for a minute it all seemed okay – like it was back to normal between them. How it used to be. He carried Daniel carefully up the steps, following closely behind Claire.

Claire rummaged through her purse and found the key, the one that the agent had dropped off yesterday. She unlocked the door and took Daniel from Peter's arms, shushing the baby as he fussed. Which was rare. He was generally a very easy baby, content to just look around at his surroundings.

The movers had done a good job of not mashing the boxes too close together, it seemed like. There was a brand new couch, and some dining room chairs still covered in plastic. The bassinette was set up under the sunny window in the living room.

It was odd, really, for Peter to watch Claire be, well, a mother. She rocked the baby gently, pressed her lips to her son's forehead, and hummed softly in the back of her throat. She deftly held the baby in one hand and arranged the blanket in his bassinette with the other.

She laid Daniel into the bassinette, and lightly rocked the corner of it with her finger. It didn't take long for the baby to quiet, and before long the only sound in the room was Claire's soft murmurs.

Claire was a wonderful mother. He hadn't expected any less.

They walked through the apartment together while the baby slept, their shoes squeaking on the highly polished wooden floors.

It really was a nice place. It had tall ceilings and large windows, crown molding and a fireplace. Peter was surprised to see not just one bedroom door but two. He peeked in the first bedroom. It was painted sage green, and was small-ish. Cozy. Perfect for a baby.

The kitchen was amazing too – marble counters and stainless steel appliances. She was very excited, and eagerly pointed out little details, admonishing him to pay attention to the color of the tile in the bathroom. Her enthusiasm made him want to smile, but he didn't. Instead he gravely gave his opinion on the number of towel racks, like she'd asked.

The master bedroom was painted a soft yellow with white trim, and Claire sighed when they stepped into it. She raised her arms and twirled in the room before plopping onto the bed. This, she said, is my favorite.

It had a beautiful view, and a little balcony. Damn. Peter felt his face growing darker, and he tried to relax it into a pleasant expression, but….

This apartment was huge, by New York standards, and Peter knew a place like this, in a neighborhood like this, wouldn't rent for a penny less than four or five thousand a month. No matter how good a deal she said she got on it.

How was she affording this? She had said that she'd already paid first and last months rent as well as a deposit – the sum of which was probably akin to the price of a modestly equipped car.

Where would she get that kind of money? He'd long suspected that Daniel's father was just some broke college kid that Claire knew at William and Mary. He was obviously wrong.

College kids, no matter how rich their parents were, generally didn't have $15,000 lying around. And she was smart about money – she wouldn't have gotten this place if she didn't think the cash was going to keep coming in.

He frowned. Peter hadn't bought into the reckless paranoia that Nathan had, the suspicion that something Very Bad was going on with Claire.

But now all he could think about was that fat roll of cash in her purse.

She asked him what was wrong when he didn't say anything.

He kind of blurted it out in a matter-of-fact manner. That he knew she didn't have a job, and could they stop pretending that she was earning the money for the apartment herself? How was she affording this? How? And then his words faded away.

She recoiled from him visibly, tucked her feet up under her on the bed. A brand new bed, Peter noted, a king size by the looks of it. Why did Claire need such a big bed? Peter felt odd, like he was being paranoid or something, finding suspicion in everything.

He ordered his mind not to go there, not to think about Dateline specials featuring teenage call girls. He looked at his niece, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes looking a little wary at the moment. She was still the same Claire, the same girl he had met on a cool September night in a high school in Texas.

Claire wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't do that. Wherever she was getting this money from wasn't that. Or anything like that.

He waited for her answer, though. For a while he thought he wasn't going to get one.

And then she cleared her throat delicately and stood up from the bed. She spoke softly, and said that she had already given the only explanation that she was prepared to give.

After that she shut him out, and answered him with one-word responses till he finally gave up and left.

-----

Babies grow quickly. Peter had never realised just how. He was getting tired, so tired of his maniacal plane trips and the traveling. Not only for him and Mohinder's 'business', but also back and forth to New York every weekend. Mohinder still had him running all over the world with him, and Peter himself was picking up powers at a rapid rate.

Peter knew it was important, that his abilities really sped the process but…he needed to be in New York. He would be happy to keep on helping, but New York needed to be his home base.

Of course it all would've been bearable if he could move about the globe like Hiro did. He knew he was capable of it – he'd done it when Claire was about to give birth, much to his shock and surprise. It had been easy that time. He'd been so panicked and he'd just…done it.

But it didn't seem to work now – Peter couldn't seem to focus correctly. It had only worked when he'd heard the scared little hitch in Claire's voice.

He hadn't thought about it. Just pinched his eyes shut, and he was there. Maybe he had to be panicked for it to work?

It probably didn't help that he was worn down, and tired, now. It was just before Daniel turned four months old, and Peter was really glad that Mohinder didn't try to guilt trip him into keeping on. Peter told him that he just couldn't do it anymore, didn't want to for that matter. Couldn't someone else pick of the slack?

Mohinder was very polite, of course, very apologetic that he'd asked Peter to help him so much already. Of course he understood that he must leave. Family came first.

Family did come first, in Peter's mind, but it was more than that. Peter had made a promise. To Claire, and to Daniel, and to himself. He was going to keep it. Had to keep it.

So Peter moved home. He packed up his stuff from the hotel that he was staying at, and Mohinder dropped him off at the airport in Sao Paulo. Mohinder thanked him genuinely for all of his help, and shook his hand through the car window.

Peter felt a little guilty, but all that disappeared as the plane circled around La Guardia. He'd forgotten how good it felt to say that he was officially a New Yorker. Again.

He was going to stay with Nathan, much to the chagrin of his mother. But there was more space at Nathan's. It just made sense.

It was temporary, just until he found an apartment. That was the hard part of course – it's easy enough to find a place in New York, if you don't mind getting ridiculously overcharged.

But he wasn't in any hurry, was perfectly content to wait for the right one. A couple weeks, or even months, if that's what it took.

Nathan picked him up from the airport, and nearly broke his ribs when he hugged him, told him how happy he was that Peter got smart and decided to move back.

Heidi made a special dinner and Peter made a joke about the fatted calf. Claire came but stayed only a few minutes. She said that Daniel wasn't feeling well and that she wanted to get him home.

She kissed the air near Peter's ear when she said her goodbyes, and wouldn't look him in the eyes when she said welcome home.

Damn it.

-----

After three glasses of scotch too many (blame Nathan and his love of rambling toasts), Peter stumbled up the stairs to the room he was staying in. Claire's old room.

He pushed the door open slowly, and a waft of air from inside the room blew over him. She'd moved out three months ago, and it still smelled like her perfume.

He exhaled slowly. He'd seen her spray it on herself many times. It came in a round, clear glass bottle edged in apple green.

Peter knocked his head against the wall, and sighed. The whole room smelled like Claire. His niece, Claire.

He slept on the couch in the den that night.

Peter stayed at Nathan's for two days. Then he found a place – it was overpriced and there weren't enough windows for his liking, but it was vacant and had a same-day move-in. Whatever. Peter signed a six-month lease.


	6. Dirty Business

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

It was only June, and already it was disgustingly hot in the City. Peter wore his lightest cotton shirt and he still emerged from the cab feeling sweaty.

He was going over to Claire's. She'd thawed out toward him some since he moved back, and they'd been seeing each other more and more often. Peter had bought a video for babies that he saw some doctor recommending on CNN, and was taking it over for Daniel.

He pushed his hair off of his forehead with frustration. He was tired of it falling in his face, sick of it feeling hot and damp on his scalp in the summers.

So before he went into Claire's building, he walked over to the small hair place a block away for a trim. Well, more than a trim. He cut a good four inches of his hair off.

Claire nearly died when he showed up at her door, still brushing the dregs from his collar. She told him that she loved it, that she'd been wanting him to cut his hair for _years_.

He laughed and said really? He hadn't noticed.

She punched his arm and had a huge smile on her face.

Claire whistled as she moved around her apartment, danced a little as she wiped down the counters of her kitchen while Peter played with the baby. She decided to make an almond cake, she said. His favorite.

He was back in her good graces from then on. Peter didn't know why – it couldn't be just because of some dumb haircut. But he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That afternoon she complimented his new look over and over again, till he finally told her to give it a rest or he was going to get an ego problem.

-----

Daniel Noah Petrelli was fun. _Seriously _fun. At ten months he was already the darling of the family, with a good temper and an easy laugh.

Claire starting calling him Danny, and said that he was going to eat her out of house and home when he was a teenager, if his appetite remained this big.

The Bennet's were more than enamoured, and constantly pestered Claire with plane tickets and guilt trips to bring Danny out for a visit. And she did visit fairly often, was much more outgoing than during her pregnancy.

Nathan's boys loved to perform all sorts of mock-falls, just to see Danny's chubby cheeks bunch up and hear the throaty baby chuckle that exploded out of him. Danny loved to laugh – loved to clown around for the funny big people that were always so concentrated on him.

Claire was still going to NYU online, and ostensibly she still had her 'job' as well. But no one ever asked about her job. No one really wanted to know, is what Heidi thought. And that was more than fine. Claire seemed happy and healthy and well taken care of.

That was what mattered.

Heidi had long ago (pretty much) accepted that the father of Claire's child was most likely a married man, one who had a lot of money and had a reputation to lose if it ever got around that he'd fathered the child of a twenty-year-old college student. A _blonde _twenty-year-old college student.

It wasn't an ideal situation, but certainly not an uncommon one. Especially in Heidi and Nathan's circle, my god! It happened every day, it seemed like. Heidi thought it didn't mean that it was acceptable, but it certainly wasn't unheard of. She just hoped that Claire was taking him to the cleaners properly in exchange for her silence.

Anyway, Danny had plenty of people to love him. If his father didn't want to be involved, then that was his loss. And there were plenty who would take his place and do as fine a job. Better, probably.

Take Peter. Peter was…well, crazy about Danny. He visited Claire's place constantly, and was often the first face Danny saw when he woke up from his nap. Danny's eyes would always widen with pleasure when he saw Peter. His feet would excitedly stamp up and down and his hands would rise, asking to be picked up.

He got his way, usually. If Danny was in the same room as Peter, then Danny was in Peter's arms. Danny loved to be tossed in the air and caught, and would stand on Peter's open palm, clutching onto his other hand for balance.

Claire would laugh at the acrobatics, and she took a million pictures every day, it seemed like. It was like she didn't want to miss a single frame of her son's life.

When Claire would come to visit Heidi and Nathan, she'd spread a little blanket over the floor and set Danny down with a few toys. He was content to amuse himself or to be played with, alternately.

Which is where Danny currently was. It was Claire's birthday, and Heidi had outdone herself on a huge meal with all of Claire's favorite foods. The Bennet's had flown in from Texas for the occasion, and now they had retired to the parlour with glasses of wine.

Peter and Nathan were in the den room at the moment, attempting to fix the Xbox for Lyle and the boys. But it was okay. Heidi could handle the Bennet's on her own. Sure it was a little odd, but there was a semi-comfortable relationship between the two families at this point. Conversation wasn't like pulling teeth anymore.

Besides, they all had something in common now.

Danny was sitting on his blanket babbling in his gruff little voice as he studied his toys. Claire was growing his hair long, dark waves over his forehead. He had kept those luminous Petrelli eyes, somewhere between brown and gold.

Such an agreeable child, said Mrs. Petrelli, which was really very high praise from her indeed. Daniel - never Danny when it came to Mrs. Petrelli - certainly reminded her of Peter as a baby. He'd been an exceptionally happy infant as well

Claire nodded and quietly said that she hoped Danny would someday turn out as well as Peter.

Heidi leaned over and squeezed Claire's shoulders. Claire was such a sweetheart. Everyone in the room smiled.

Noah Bennet didn't though.

He watched his daughters face. Carefully, and inconspicuously, as was his way.

-----

It was about a week after Claire's birthday when Peter was awoken by the ringing of his phone. It was pitch black outside, and for a minute he was confused.

He looked at the clock by his bed. It was a little after 1 a.m.

Peter groaned but he hopped out of bed and grabbed his cell phone from its charger on the dresser.

He didn't recognize the number but he answered anyway.

Whoever it is on the other line was already yelling when Peter pressed the talk button. He didn't even get a chance to say hello.

The screaming was mostly a stream of slurred, incoherent cuss words – big, nasty ones. Peter thought it was probably some poor drunk S.O.B. who dialed the wrong number. Peter was about to hang up when he heard the guy on the line call him by name.

Peter listened silently for a few minutes, and felt his stomach drop into his feet.

He pressed the disconnect button, and then hurriedly got dressed.

-----

The doorman at Claire's building knew Peter by sight, and nodded gravely at him as he opened the door. Peter tapped his foot nervously during the elevator ride, which was always long, but this time it seemed infinite.

When he finally reached Claire's apartment, he could see the light streaming out from under her front door. Still, he knocked softly, just in case.

No time at all passed before Claire swung the door open. She was wearing pajama pants and a tank top, and her hair was loose and tousled.

She held her cell phone up to her ear, and didn't seem surprised to see Peter, not at all. She wiggled her finger at him, inviting him in. He stepped in and grabbed the door to shut it when she stayed his hand and motioned to Danny's room, put her fingers to her lips.

So Peter nudged the door shut softly, and leaned against it.

Claire still hadn't said a word to whoever was on the other line. She paced across the living room.

Finally she spoke, said u-huh and I know and I'm sorry you're mad, but what do you want from me? And then she sighed, and Peter could hear the frantic screaming from the caller.

Peter was frozen in the spot where he had first entered Claire's apartment. He leaned his head back against the door and stared at the ceiling.

Claire's voice finally grew cold. She said she was tired and didn't want to be yelled at anymore and that he should call her tomorrow and they can do it all over again. Then there were a few more minutes of her silence, punctuated by a loud well I'm not sorry and goodnight.

And then she snapped her phone shut.

Peter's eyes felt a little moist – air conditioning tended to do that to him.

"Hi," she said, as she turned to him, a smile on her face.

Peter didn't say anything for a minute. "How can you be smiling?"

Claire sighed and sat down heavily onto her couch. He still had not moved away from the steadying presence of her front door at his back.

Finally he spoke. "Your dad," he said, the words nearly choking in his throat. "Your dad said some things to me on the phone."

Claire nodded slowly. "Sorry he woke you up."

And that's all she said. He waited, _prayed _for a denial to fall from her lips, for her to tell him that it wasn't true, but neither came.

Peter's head lolled on the wall as he continued to look up at the ceiling. And then he bit the words out.

"I know it didn't happen, that…no way did it happen. But I have to ask you. Just because."

Peter's eyes were watering more, and he wiped them quickly.

"I have to know, right now, and when you tell me that it's not true, I will never, ever say anything about it ever again."

Claire's arms were folded in front of her, and she met his gaze freely.

"Is there…any possible way that Danny is my son?" Peter's voice quivered.

Claire looked at him calmly, for awhile. It was the same look she'd given him when she'd told him that Danny was her business, all those months ago.

And she never answered him.

Peter started to shake, the tremors beginning somewhere behind his stomach.

Claire's phone started to ring again, and she tersely turned it off.

Peter spoke in a broken voice. "I've never slept with you. I've never been drunk enough to do that in my whole life."

Claire rolled her eyes like it was a joke. "Well, thanks a lot."

He slammed his fist against the door and told her to stop fucking around.

She was silent.

He didn't say anything for a minute, and then he felt the truth wash over him, relief that felt sweet and cool over his face. He spoke the words to her as he thought them. "No. No. Danny's not my son...I never had sex with you. I've never even kissed you."

She stood, slowly, and walked over to him. Stood in front of him and looked at him in a way she never, ever had before.

"You're right," she said. "We've never slept together. But, Danny _is _your son. Can you understand that?"

He just stared at her, uncomprehending.

She sighed. "How do I even start to explain?"

A million memories, doubts, fears, and desires coursed through Peter's brain. Rampant what ifs – what if they I had /I done it and then he had his memory wiped? What if Claire had done it with Candice posing as him? What if Claire was Candice right now? What if this was all some horrible hallucination cooked up by someone, Sylar, someone worse than Sylar? What if he was still asleep in his bed, and this was just a terrible nightmare?

"I can guess where your mind is going, Peter. I swear to you that this is the real me." She paused, her eyes darting up into his. "You got a parking ticket in front of my place two weeks ago. It rained the day we went to _Goners _together.

That was true enough. He relaxed a little.

"I also know that you have a mole right there," she said, and her hand trailed toward his right hip, before he shifted away from her.

She paused. Then spoke softly. "I know you grit your teeth when you come."

"Shut up," said Peter in a strangled voice.

She smiled with a little pity behind her eyes, and reached for his chin. But he jerked away from her touch like she was made of hot metal.

"Peter, you don't have to be afraid, or shy. I know you well, so well. You don't have to pretend with me." She smiled at him comfortingly, and it looked like she was trying very hard to put him at ease.

"What. What are you talking about?" said Peter shakily.

"Listen. Just listen. I'm going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to."

"Who?" asked Peter.

She looked down at the floor, and Peter thought for a minute that she wasn't going to answer him. But then she did.

"You," said Claire.


	7. Another Lifetime

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

"Listen. Just listen. I'm going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to."

Claire thought back carefully, and was trying to select which bits and pieces she could give him, what would be the best to tell him.

He was petrified, looked like he was going to hyperventilate as he stood rigidly against the front door of her apartment.

She certainly couldn't tell him the truth – he wasn't ready to hear it and, what's more, it would take too long.

There was an awful lot of truth…

-----

Claire had just gotten out of the shower. It had been extra steamy, the way she liked it. She had taken all the hot water, but her parents were out and it was just Lyle and her and who cared about Lyle anyway?

Her skin was flushed pink and she tied herself into her warm terrycloth robe. It was old and definitely too 'kiddie' for a sixteen year old to wear, but she liked it.

She walked quickly to her room and locked the door, so there wouldn't be any annoying interruptions from Lyle. She turned her stereo on, loud, and hummed along.

She squeezed a dab of lotion from the pump on her dresser and sat on her bed while she massaged it into her face. She rubbed her wet head hard with her towel, and flipped back her hair.

And then she screamed. At the top of her lungs. Standing in her room was a boy. No, a man. He was not very tall but he still looked like a man. An old man! With scruff on his face! Claire jumped onto her bed with a yelp.

"Shh, Claire, it's okay!" His hands were raised in front of him in a non-threatening manner.

Claire stood on her bed and grabbed the nearest thing-that-could-be-used-as-a-weapon. She pointed her tumbling trophy in away from her body. "Don't touch me! I'll kill you!"

Of course he didn't seem scared. In fact it seemed like he was trying not to laugh.

"It's okay, Claire, really, I am not going to hurt you, I swear. I know you really well in the future. I'm special, like you are," said the man, the old man.

"Shut up," she said shakily, hoping she came across meaner than she sounded to her own ears. "How do you know my name? How'd you get in here?"

"I…listen. That doesn't matter," he said. "I'll tell you in a minute, okay?"

"Tell me now," she said, bargaining for time. She was going to have to scream louder. It was her damned stereo that was keeping the whole neighborhood from hearing her.

The man shook his head. "Hmm," he said, and reached into his pocket. "This'll be faster."

And then he pulled out a knife.

She burst into tears.

"Claire! Jesus," said the man, and he started toward her, which only made her cry more.

True it was a small knife…it was one of those little Swiss Army Knifes. But those could still kill someone. Claire screamed again. Where the hell was Lyle when it would do some good?

"Lyle! There's an old man in my room and he's got a knife!"

"Old man?"

"Shut up I said!" Claire shook her trophy at him.

The old man flicked open the blade of his knife. Oh no. No no no. She held onto the trophy like a baseball bat, ready to beat him to death when he came at her.

"Look, don't cry and don't scream, okay? Just watch."

And then the man stuck the blade into his arm, and pulled down vehemently.

She couldn't help it, she yelled again, that there was some crazy psycho old man in her room and he was cutting himself.

The man pulled the knife out of his arm, and Claire's eyes widened as the wound knitted itself together.

Claire didn't say anything for what felt like hours. She just stared at the drops of blood dripping off of his arm. At the smooth skin that appeared underneath the parted rivulets of red.

She felt a little lightheaded, and maybe…a little giddy. Like she wanted to smile, even though she knew she was still probably in danger but…she wasn't afraid anymore.

"You're like me," she said softly.

She hopped off her bed and stood in front of the old man. Well, he wasn't that old after all, maybe.

She touched the skin on his arm, where it had recently healed. It was smooth and warm.

And then she looked up at him. He was smirking at her. In a nice way.

"I thought it was just me…and now there's you," she said. She smiled at him with what felt like every bone in her body.

-----

She liked him, and after he stuck his knife into his arm, she wasn't afraid of him anymore. It didn't bug her when he would come visit.

Actually, it was kinda cool.

He knew she was going to be a cheerleader this year. He knew she didn't like bananas, and that she couldn't fall asleep unless the door to her closet was closed.

He knew about her dad, her mom, her brother, and he knew a _lot _more too. Stuff he wouldn't tell her when she asked. She could see it in his eyes.

"How do I know you in the future?"

"We're just friends," he said firmly.

"Duh," she said, and gave him a Look.

"Sorry. You know what I mean."

"What's your name?" she asked. It was an innocent question, she thought. Especially since this was the second time he'd come to visit her. She'd turn around, and he'd be there, standing against the door, usually.

"I can't tell you," he said apologetically.

"You know _my _name," she said, like that would make any sort of difference. It really pissed her off sometimes. He knew everything about her, and she knew nothing about him.

He told her to be patient.

Claire was going to take A.P. Chemistry this year. He helped her with her summer assignment, and he was really, really good at it. So good that she wondered if he was a doctor or a scientist in his real life. Or something.

-----

She liked his visits, didn't realize that she'd grown to look forward to them so much until he didn't come for three nights in a row.

When he finally came, she voiced her only complaint.

"What am I supposed to call you? It feels weird being like, 'Hey You,' all the time," said Claire as she doodled in her school notebook.

"My name is...Fez," he said with a grin.

"Like the guy on the TV show?" asked Claire dubiously.

"Yeths." He said it in such a perfect little quirky imitation.

She laughed. It surprised her that he could be silly. "Liar."

"Why? It could be a family name." He said it jokingly but then his eyes got very dark all of the sudden.

"Fine, you don't want to tell me? I'm just going to call you Old Man from now on," said Claire.

He was sitting at her desk, his hands folded behind his head, legs outstretched. "Why do you have to call me anything?"

"I guess I don't…but what if I want to write about you in my Livejournal?" asked Claire teasingly.

He sat forward and his brown eyes looked very serious. "You can't – you absolutely cannot write about me. Anywhere. Or talk about me to anyone. Okay?"

"Why not?"

"Because. The more you know about me, the more likely it'll cause a rift."

"A rift?" she asked.

"Like, the more people involved, the more likely we are to mess something up in the future, if we change the future too much and too quickly. That's why I'm not giving you details about me. We shouldn't risk it."

"Okay. So if you don't want to risk it, why bother coming to visit at all?" She was trying very hard not to sound miffed, but her words still came out pretty snitty.

It's not like they even did anything when he came, really. He would talk to her about her day, ask what she had for dinner. Dumb stuff.

He sat up in her chair and seemed to get serious. "I'm not going to lie to you, Claire. I know how smart you are. I'm just saying that up front."

Claire braced her fingers against her mattress.

"I'm here because I have to get you to trust yourself. Your instincts," he said.

"Oookay…"

He sighed. "And me. That's the big part. I have to get you to trust me."

She nodded. "Okay, I do."

He chuckled.

"I said, I trust you! Now what?" she asked impatiently.

"That's all I'm here for."

She looked at him dubiously. "You just want me…to trust you?"

"Yep."

"Why?" she asked, utterly confused.

"I just need you to," he said lightly.

"Um. So what is it you ask me to like, do? Kill someone?"

He laughed. "No. Nothing like that."

"Why can't you tell me?" she grumbled.

"There's nothing to tell. I mean there are specifics, and I've gone over it in my mind a million times what I should and shouldn't tell you…and really the only thing that you need to know is that you can trust me, Claire."

He hadn't blinked during that whole little spiel. His eyes had remained on hers the whole time.

"So," he said easily, and leaned back into his chair. "That's why I'm here. So we can get to know each other better."

"You want me to get to know you, but you not say anything about yourself?" asked Claire sarcastically.

"No. I mean, I can say some things."

"Like what," she said teasingly.

His eyes gleamed with humor. "I like chocolate ice cream, and my favorite Beatles song is _Yesterday_."

She threw one of her teddy bears at his head. "That's half of the planet, freak." She thought for a second. "More than half."

He caught the bear, and laughingly tossed it back to her.

A/N: again, thanks for all of the reviews. please keep reviewing. i love them like a companion loves alliance credits.


	8. He Can Only Hold Her

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

She was craving tacos desperately late one night and tried to get him to go to Taco Lita with her. Her mom had made meat loaf and she hated it and she was starving for some real food.

"I can't, Claire. I shouldn't leave this room."

"Why not?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"It's too easy for me to mess something up. Think of _The Butterfly Effect_. You seen it?"

She nodded. She'd nursed a pretty heavy crush on Ashton Kutcher through most of junior high. But he didn't need to know that.

"I thought you were trying to change the future?" she asked.

"I am. But not the future at large," he said.

"We can't go even for a second? I'm sure no one would see us," she bargained, though she knew he would say no.

He smiled sadly at her. "You know I'd love to go with you. If I could, I mean."

"Yeah," she said grumpily. "Either way, I guess it's better since if I saw someone I wouldn't know how to introduce you."

"True," he said carefully.

"So, if that ever happens, what should I call you?"

He rolled his eyes at her, not fooled for a second.

"Ashton," he said wryly, and looked at her like he knew everything about her.

Maybe he did.

-----

It was the night before school started, and Claire asked for his opinion on what she should wear for her first day.

"Try me," he said, and sat on the floor by the closet.

He liked to sit there, sometimes, when he came to visit.

So she modeled the two shirts she was torn between. They were just plain old t-shirts from American Eagle, but still, she wanted to look nice, you know?

Claire always wore a white tank top underneath t-shirts. Now she just pulled off the t-shirt, didn't bother to go into the closet to do it.

She wondered if he'd think it shocking, the way she so lackadaisically took her shirt off in front of him. Even if it didn't show anything but her tank top underneath.

But he was looking away, facing the wall politely.

She wondered if Future Claire had ever taken her shirt off in front of him.

The thought made her fingers numb.

-----

A.P. Chemistry had a crazy amount of homework, from the very first day of school. He helped her with it, almost every night he came. She would sit at her desk and he would bend over her, slightly.

One night they got in a heated argument over colligative properties and she slammed the textbook down onto her desk, hard, for emphasis.

Her dad burst into the room. "Everything okay, kiddo?"

She looked at him, stricken.

"Claire?"

"Um. Yeah. Everything is cool," said Claire slowly. "I just dropped this," she said, and nudged her book.

"Okay," said her Dad with a smile, and shut her door.

He, the Old Man, came back a couple minutes later, wouldn't tell her how he'd hid from her dad so quickly.

"Warn me the next time you decide to start throwing twenty pound books around," he said irritably.

She giggled at him – at his exaggerated frown, the obvious displeasure on his face.

And then he looked down at her, met her eyes, and smiled back at her.

She started locking her door that night. Just in case.

-----

"You're from the future. Is it set in stone?" she asked late one night. She was nearly asleep, nestled into her bed, with a blanket draped over her body.

He was sitting on her floor. He sometimes came late like that, and just sat with her till she fell asleep.

"I hope not," he replied.

"Don't you know? Isn't that why you're here? To change things?"

He hesitated. "Some things."

"But you can change the bad stuff, right?" asked Claire sleepily.

He sighed. "I'm trying. I'm not sure if I even can. But something wants me to try."

"The hand of God."

"I guess," he said, his mouth twisting. "But I've got to keep trying. I just hope I don't change anything I shouldn't."

"Basically, you want to smash just one butterfly…the one that's you," said Claire.

"Gross imagery, but yeah, I guess it applies," he said with a chuckle.

Claire was quiet for a few minutes, struggling against the sleep that was biting at her consciousness. "It's kind of scary to think we could mess stuff up."

He spoke emphatically. "That's not how it works, Claire. This is your time. You belong here. You can always change things however you like, and it won't mess up the past."

"I don't get it," she said softly.

He stood and walked over to the chair at her desk, leaned forward earnestly onto his knees. The moonlight crossed over his face. "I mean, you can make anything happen. You never have to worry about changing things how you want them to go. You have a choice in this."

'Then why can't I know your name?" she asked, and it sounded really pouty, but that was because she was tired, surely.

"Because that's me bringing information back to you. I'm the one that's out of place in this time. No, you I always /I have a choice – you can always make whatever decision you want. Okay?"

"That doesn't seem fair," she said.

She heard him sigh. "Well, If I do this right, I won't have to come back to bug you anymore."

"I don't want you to go," she said quietly, still nearly asleep.

"I'll still be there. And mostly the same person," he said.

"That's good," she said, and then she was asleep.

-----

"Have you heard this album?" Claire held the CD case up. Zach had given it to her that afternoon.

He, the Old Man, was sitting on the floor again.

He squinted at the case. "Amy Winehouse. Yes, I have…many a-time."

"Do you like it?" Claire asked, as she turned to slip the CD into her stereo.

He laughed. "Not particularly. But I know you do."

Claire smiled with her back to him. She loved it when he dropped hints and didn't notice.

A minute later she spoke again. "I bet in the future you don't even use CDs anymore."

He sighed. "We do. Now stop fishing, okay?"

Claire bounced on to her bed, kicking her heels into the mattress in time with the music. "I'm not fishing! Ugh," she said exasperatedly.

But she was, and he'd caught her at it, which was embarrassing.

Claire flopped back onto her bed, her legs still dangling off the edge.

"Is Future Claire a gigantic ninny?"

"A what?" he asked.

"A ninny, you know, a wuss. You say I have to learn to trust my instincts. So does Future Claire like, not? Does she do whatever people tell her to?"

He laughed. "Hardly."

"Then I don't get it." She turned on her side to look at him.

His face sobered. "You are a very strong person, Claire. No one pushes you around. You know your mind. And I'm not just talking about Future Claire – I'm talking about you."

"Then why are you even here?" She sounded accusatory even though she didn't mean to.

"Doubting your instincts is natural. Especially when stuff is so out of the ordinary. For people like us, I mean," he said. "I'm just hoping that you'll learn that you can rely on them."

She laid back onto her bed again, stared at the ceiling. She was quiet for a long while. Just thinking about what he'd said…trying to sort out what it meant. She was glad that he said that she was strong, glad that he said she knew her own mind.

But he hadn't exactly answered the question, and that worried her.

"Future Claire is not a wuss," he said after awhile, in a voice that was very decided.

She smiled.

"Know what my instincts are telling me now?" she asked. She wound her fingers into a pillow on her bed.

"I can't wait for you to tell me."

She threw the pillow at his face, but he was too fast. He leapt off the ground when he caught it.

The loud music muffled her shriek of laughter as he attacked.

-----

"When can I meet you? I want to meet you in real life," said Claire one night.

They were laying on her bed, side by side. It was very late at night.

He had his arm under her head. It wasn't sexual or anything, at all. Just kinda nice and comforting.

"Soon."

"When?" she pressed again.

He sighed. "Man, you are so impatient as a teenager."

It was a little detail, but probably the biggest one he'd ever outright said. She smiled in the dark.

She sighed. "I can't wait to meet you."

"You know me now," he said.

"Yeah, but I don't even know your name. I swear, the minute I see you I am going to just walk up to you and make you tell me. And then I'm going to make you take me for tacos," said Claire.

"No-no, you can't do that," he said, and she sat up.

"Why not?"

He sat up as well. "Because you can't. Claire, I don't know you. When you meet me, I won't know you."

"So?"

"You have to pretend like I'm a stranger. When you meet Right Now Me, you have to pretend like you're meeting me for the first time. Say all the things you would've said to a stranger."

She wrinkled her nose. "That will be weird. It'll sound dumb and fake."

"No it won't. I know you're a good actress," he said.

"Yeah. I guess I do know how to pretend to be Normal Claire," she said grumpily.

"I wouldn't worry about that so much as the expression on _this_," he said, and touched the tip of her nose with his finger. "You look like you know a big secret when you lie. So try to stuff it," he said, and poked her arm gently.

She laughed. "I'll try."

He paused, and squinted. "Actually you should just let me do the talking. It's safer that way."

"Fine with me." She shrugged her shoulders like it didn't matter.

But it did.

A/N sorry for the delay, people, i forgot about this for awhile.


	9. Branches

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

She was terrified when she woke up, staring up at the stars. She looked quickly to the right and yelped. She was about a foot away from the ragged cliff that overhung the edge of the river by the high school.

And then she saw him. He was crouched above her, holding a tree branch that was covered in blood. His eyes were large and frightened and he was shaking her shoulders, screaming at her to tell him if she was all right.

"I'm okay! I'm okay!" she said breathlessly, even though she didn't feel okay. She could feel her body healing, deep welts and wounds mushing back together.

And then he was holding her to him, hugging her and cradling her head with one arm. He was mumbling all kinds of stuff into her hair, which was sopping wet. He dropped the branch and grasped her closer.

After awhile, she licked her lips and tried to speak. "What happened? Last I remember, I was with Brody…" she said.

"The bastard. I'm going to kill him."

"No," said Claire hazily. "He sucks, but I don't want you to kill anyone."

That's when she realised that she was naked. Laying across the lap of this guy, this weird Old Man guy who said that he was from the future and that he needed her to trust him.

She wanted to die of embarrassment for a split second but, well, if he didn't seem to care, then neither would she.

"How'd you find me?" asked Claire.

"You weren't home," he said. "And I remembered…"

"Oh crap, my parents," said Claire, and she struggled to her feet.

That's when she heard the dogs barking in the distance.

"Did you pull that out of me?" She gestured to the branch.

"Yeah, but…"

"Put it back in," said Claire. "Was I in the river? Kill me with the branch, then push me in."

It was the first time he'd ever looked even slightly panicked. "No. No! I'm not going to do that!"

She saw lights in the bracken facing her.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"I don't know. I yelled for help awhile ago," he said, his voice muffled.

"You have to do it," she said. "You pull me out, and Brody never gets caught. You pull me out, and you mess with the butterfly in places you shouldn't be messing. Remember?"

He just stood there. "I won't"

She grabbed his shirt and shook him. "Remember?!" she shrieked.

The dogs were barking, and Claire could hear voices. Voices of people who were going to find her. And him, unless she got him to leave.

She picked up the branch and pushed it into his hands. He shook his head slowly.

She spoke quickly. "They're right there. You need to leave before they come, and I need to be in the river," she said forcefully, and began scratching deep gashes back into her legs.

He hesitated. She grabbed the tip of the branch and held it to her head.

"Oh, for God's sake, just do it already," she said exasperatedly. "You can't kill me. It's gonna be fine."

He must have, because the next thing she sees is the bright light in an autopsy room.

-----

They were sitting on the floor of her room, kinda sorta (halfway) playing Jenga and talking.

Claire was discussing her parents – her real ones, and he never, ever said _anything _when she talked about that. It's obvious he knows more than he's saying.

But he wouldn't ever tell, she knows it. So she didn't even bother asking.

"Am I a teacher when I grow up??

He laughed. "A school teacher?"

"Why's that so funny? I've wanted to be a school teacher since I was a kid."

And then he sobered. "I didn't know that."

"Didn't I tell you? Future Claire, I mean."

He wiggled one of the pieces out of the tower. "Nope."

"That surprises me," said Claire, as she watched him.

"Not me," he said. "You don't tell me everything."

Claire snorted, and then nearly blushed at the loud and ugly sound. "Well. I'm glad Future Claire gives you a taste of your own medicine."

She idly slipped one of the pieces out of the tower and asked another question she'd thought of a couple days ago. "How can I tell Future You and Right Now You apart?

He looked like he was concentrating for a minute, and then shook his head. "Huh?"

"I mean, so I know I'm going to meet you, right? How will I know it's the Right Now You and not the Future You?"

He cleared his throat. "Hmm." And then he didn't say anything for the longest time. But he was still thinking. He did that a lot.

"Right Now Me has much longer hair," he said. "That's how you'll know. Hmm…"

His hair was cropped close to his head, very business-conservative-y and she felt a smile spread over her face.

"Long hair? Hahah!" She laughed happily. "Whew!"

"What?" He was smiling at her. "Can't believe I'd have long hair?"

"Yeah, sorry, that just sounds weird," said Claire as she pulled another piece off of the Jenga tower.

"Well it's not insanely long. Just long_er_," he said. "It was a phase, okay? I got sick of it not too long ago."

"Fine. Right Now You is a hippie. That's cool. I dig," she said, and snapped her fingers in a beatnik fashion. "I'm gonna call you…Hep Cat…from now on."

It was his turn to snort as he started to take another piece off of the tower.

And then she tried out her new tactic: kamikaze question asking.

"Are you my husband? In the future, I mean."

He knocked over the Jenga tower, and cursed. Then he apologized for cursing.

She told him it was okay, and changed the subject, for real this time. It was Homecoming on Friday, and she told him all about her dress and stuff.

She remembered later that night, after he'd gone, that he hadn't denied being her husband.

She smiled.

-----

He made her repeat the rules back to him the next night. She was in a silly mood, and this was the last thing she wanted to do, but she did it because he was looking at her very seriously.

"I mean this, Claire. We've got to do all this a certain way. Maintain the integrity of the event."

"Hey, I've got a question for you," she said, ignoring his stern words. "What do I do if you ever figure out that you came from the future to visit me?"

He scratched his head. "I dunno. Be honest, I guess. Answer the questions without specifics if you can. Same stuff I do with you."

"That means I won't tell you anything," said Claire.

"Whiner. Now seriously, the rules. Tell me what you're going to do when you meet Right Now Me."

"M'kay. I can't tell you that I know you," she said, counting off on her left hand.

"Right…?" He prompted.

"And I have to pretend like it's the first time we met."

"Uh huh…?"

Claire hesitated. "Uh…and I can't look at you like I know a secret," said Claire.

"Yes."

She smiled lightly. "And…I have to let you guide the conversation. Not ask a million questions I shouldn't."

"Yup. That's it."

"Well I think I can handle that," said Claire.

"I know you can."

-----

It was the night before Homecoming. They were laying on her bed again. Not saying anything for long periods of time, and it felt so nice to snuggle her body up to him, to lay her head on his shoulder.

After awhile he spoke. "How am I doing?"

"Um, I don't know. How _are _you doing?" she answered. She ran her finger along the row of buttons on his shirt.

He shooed her hand away. "With the trust thing, I mean."

Claire sighed.

"Seriously Claire, do you trust me?"

"Sure," she said.

"Sure?"

"Hey, I think a 'sure' is pretty high praise considering you don't trust _me _enough to tell me your own name," she said nastily.

"Hey. Hey." He tried to turn her face to his, and when she jerked out of his grasp, he finally grabbed her chin and made her look at him.

"It's never been that I don't trust you, Claire, okay? I trust you more than you think I do."

"Well, that's still not much," she said.

She expected him to sigh or change the subject, but he didn't. He held on fast to her chin and spoke forcefully.

"That's true for now. But I know you, Claire, the Claire who's a woman. And you have never, _ever _let me down. Okay? And we've been through some tough stuff together."

Claire smiled in the corner of her mouth, just a little proud of Future Claire.

And all of the sudden, no warning at all, the mood shifted. His hand was still holding her chin, holding her face to look at his.

Just as she wondered if he was going to kiss her, the moment was gone.

He stood up abruptly. "I hope you do trust me, Claire. I think you do."

She didn't tell him that yes, she trusted him. Completely. He didn't need to hear it. Surely he already knew.

He smiled at her sadly. "This is it."

She sat up quickly. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't think you're going to see me again," he said.

"What?" she yelped, completely shocked.

"You're going to meet me. The real me, pretty soon."

"But I like _this _you! I want to see _this _you again!" She felt her eyes getting moist, and ordered herself not to cry.

He chuckled. "There's no point. You won't need _this _me anymore."

"So? I still want to see you," she said. "You can't just say you're never coming again. That's not fair."

"That's the way things have to be, Claire." He spoke lightly but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Well, it's not fair!" she said, and felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I already feel totally alone in this stupid town. I need you!"

He finally turned to her, and smiled at her ruefully. He didn't say anything for a long time. "No you don't. Not really," he said. And then he wiped the tear from her cheek.

"Can't you just come for like, special occasions?" she begged desperately. "My birthday, graduations…something?

Peter looked at the ground for a long time, and she thought that maybe his silence was going to be his answer. But then he spoke. "What day do you graduate. Do you know?" When he looked up, his face had something like determination on it.

"Yeah. June eighth, next summer," said Claire.

He nodded slowly. "Okay. How about this. I promise to come see you when you graduate from high school. If I can. Just for a minute or two."

"That's forever away!" Claire's hand dropped onto the bed.

"Not really," he said as he stood up. "Things happen really quickly from now till then. But it's all gonna work out, I swear. You understand?"

She didn't understand, not at all, but she nodded her head anyway.

"Just trust your instinct," he said. "And me. The Right Now Me."

Her head was down, and she couldn't raise her eyes to his.

He spoke softly. "I'm going to take care of you. Just let me take care of you, Claire. Okay?"

"Fine," she said, and she folded her arms.

And then he approached her, carefully put his arms around her. A hug. She was too mad to hug him back.

"Mm, it's like hugging a statue," he said teasingly as he withdrew.

And then he was gone.


	10. Secret Smile

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

The hallway of her high school was exactly the _last _place she expected to meet him, the Right Now Him, but there he was. His hair was long, just like he said it would be. But it wasn't hippie long, it was emo long. She almost didn't recognize him with it hanging in his face.

It made him look younger. He looked younger than Future Him looked, but not a lot.

Her face flushed and her heart was beating out of her chest practically, but she gulped a couple deep breaths and ordered herself to calm down.

She stood just up from him in the hallway, close enough for him to notice her. She tossed her hair in the obvious way that boys usually notice. She watched him look around the hallway, and stare at the trophy case.

Too impatient to wait for him, she decided to walk very slowly past him. No way he could miss her then.

And when he began to turn away, she got scared and desperate and purposefully bumped into him before she could think about the butterfly.

It was a dumb trick, and it wouldn't have fooled a woman for a second. The hallway was huge, and empty, and it was all so obviously a ploy that she couldn't believe he fell for it.

But he did. She asked him if he was a reporter in order to keep him talking, because she desperately, desperately hoped he would say his name.

But he didn't offer it, and Claire was too busy concentrating on _not _looking like she had a secret to be savvy enough to steer the conversation there.

Damn, but it was hard. Way harder than she thought it would be, to keep that knowing grin off her face. She sort of half way succeeded, hopefully.

It was an equal mixture of hilarious and infuriating to hear him praise dumb Jackie. And then she was turning her back on him, which is what Normal Claire would have done, and she'd promised to be Normal Claire.

She never doubted, not for a second, that they'd be meeting again. Soon.

-----

She never would have left him when he screamed at her to go find lights and people, never would have left his side.

But he told her to trust him, and she does, so she went.

When she saw him shift his legs back into his body, pop the bones back into his sockets, she remembered the Swiss Army knife. She pretended that she was back in her room, seeing it all for the first time.

The feeling of wonder and relief at finding someone that's like her wasn't hard to replicate.

As she was leaving (because he told her to), she remembered to trust her instinct, he had said.

Her instinct told her to ask his name, so she did.

"Hey. What's your name?" she asked.

For a split second she half-expected him to say that he can't tell her, that she can't know, like Future Him always had.

"Peter."

And it was a real struggle to keep that secret smile off of her face, but she tried.

"I'm Claire," she said, because it's only polite.

-----

She screamed at her dad that they had to go back, that they had to save him.

Dad didn't understand, she could tell, but he said he'd take care of it.

She trusts him enough to leave it at that.

-----

In the little cell, she asked her dad to leave because she wanted to be alone with him – wait, he had a name now! She asked her dad to leave because she wanted to be alone with Peter.

For the first time, he didn't pause before answering every question. He spoke to her openly, and Claire longed to pump him for all sorts of information, but she had made a promise.

So she asked him stuff that Normal Claire would have asked him, and when she told him he was her hero, she let _it _shine out of her eyes. Just for a brief second.

She wondered if he'd noticed, if he knew. Probably not.

-----

Things start to suck, big time, after that.

-----

As soon as she saw the blood pour from her Dad's torso, as soon as she saw the Haitian guy perform some weird mumbo-jumbo on him, she was terrified.

More so than she'd ever been, ever, in her whole life. More than with Brody, more than at Homecoming even.

So she did what her instinct told her to.

At the airport, she did all sorts of things that she'd never, ever in her life that she would.

Claire stole a wallet from a purse that was unattended for just a few seconds, and bought a ticket to New York. Didn't know if she could or she should. She was just reacting at this point, making up the plan as she went along.

Claire ditched the Haitian guy, the adult that shed been instructed by her dad to stick close to. She trusted her dad, sure. It's not that that she didn't trust him. It was just that, at that moment, she trusted Peter more.

---

She was mad, so _freaking _mad at him that she didn't object when her 'Grandmother' ordered her to go to Paris.

Her uncle. Her uncle! He was her uncle! Claire felt ill, sick to her stomach when her grandmother told her, had to excuse herself to the room she was staying in so she could cry quietly into her bedspread.

It all made sense. His dodgy responses to her search for her family. His desire to keep her alive. None of it was because he liked her or liked being with her, or even wanted her to stay around and keep him company.

No, he was just keeping his niece alive. Probably as a favor to his brother (who, by the way, was a gigantic douchebag). His family.

Why couldn't he have hinted at it or something? Her mind had gone to all sorts of places that were now gross and sick.

But still, part of her wondered, wandered. Why had there been those weird, almost-kissing moments with Future Peter?

Future _Uncle _Peter, she thought miserably.

Claire decided that all of that stuff must have been in her mind, a figment of her own (now disgusting) imagination.

She wanted to punch him, but he hadn't been around all afternoon, and anyway he wouldn't get why she was so mad at him.

-----

None of her anger at him earlier in the day meant that she wanted this to happen.

His lifeless body. The blank eyes. Claire was crying before she even knew it.

But then she knew what to do. Remembered what to do.

She knew because he'd done it for her once, on a dusty cliff over a river in Texas.

-----

It's really all too much. She goes in her room and cries again, odd little choking sobs that she tries to keep down so I she /I won't hear her. She has a father. She has an uncle. She has a grandmother, a step-mom, and two half-brothers.

What she doesn't have is a Dad, and for a second she regrets her decision to come to New York, even though she knows it was the right one.

She didn't know what she was expecting – well, she knows what she expected but it was stupid of her to somehow hope that _he _would be waiting here for her. It was impossible, and she's got a lot of time to kill before that happens.

So she might as well kill it in Paris. She wiped her face and sniffed a couple times, and started to pack her bag. The grandmother is stiff and cold and reminds her of a Cylon but she's going to Paris with her so they might as well get used to each other.

When Peter comes into her room and tells her that she can't leave, that they were meant to save the world, she shuts him down and argues almost every point. _This _Peter isn't all-knowing, and his plans are stupid a lot of the time.

But she doesn't argue when he tells her that this is destiny.

She knew that part was true a long time ago.

-----

He handed her a gun and she scoffed because he told her once that it wasn't about killing, she remembered it perfectly. She asked if she had to kill someone in the future and he said no. He promised her.

So she tells him that this is lame but she tucked the gun into her coat anyway, because what the hell, her power is crap for self-defense and you never know.

-----

She has a little meltdown when she's sitting by the fountain – it feels like she's five again, the time she went to Disneyland with her parents, the time she got so tired and cranky and stressed that she just laid on her back and screamed in front of Captain EO for awhile.

She doesn't lay on her back and scream in Kirby Plaza but she feels like it. She does the next best thing and cries for the people she misses – for her Dad and Mom and even Lyle but mostly for _him_, who doesn't have a cell phone number or an email.

She didn't expect to see Peter stride up to her, and when he does she pretends, just for a minute, that his hair is shorter and his face a little more lined. It's easy to do through the blurriness that is gathering in her eyes.

He wipes the tears off of her face, with the same rueful smile, and it's so like their last goodbye – the one before Homecoming - that she wants to cry more, but she doesn't.


	11. Bones

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

Almost dying only bought Peter a free pass for so long. Being nice and telling her that she meant a lot to him only bought him a free pass for so long.

He'd do something really sweet and then turn around and do something very stupid. He made her feel safe and loved and normal and then he would pretty much ditch her or completely ignore her feelings.

It was really starting to piss her off.

She decided that Right Now Peter was not as good as Future Peter. Right Now Peter was actually kind of a wuss. He kept on being Nathan's buttmonkey, and she didn't get why, why on earth he was so afraid to do his own thing.

Future Peter had always seemed confident, like he wasn't afraid of anything, let alone a bossy big brother.

Things were strained now, and she got angry enough at him in the car that she finally lost her temper and decided that this guy was a _jerk _and how dumb was she for completely believing every stupid word he said?

So she took off, and decided that she'd come find him in a couple years, when he wasn't so hell bent on being a _jerk_. Maybe.

-----

Of course, that resolve didn't last. It took an hour, maybe, for her to come running. To him.

She ordered herself to pull the trigger, knew that this…that _this _must have been what he wanted her to do, what he had been preparing her to do. He told her it wasn't about killing but that must have been a lie. So she wouldn't get scared.

The tears felt hot on her face.

It had always comforted her to think that the future wasn't written in stone, but as she pointed the gun at Peter's head she realised just how awful the prospect was.

She could kill him, right now, and he would die. Future Peter would die too.

Claire felt her heart breaking, crumbling into ash and the dust of ages as she shakily held the gun.

"Tell me there's another way, please!" she asked in a broken voice. Any way.

There were no guarantees in life. Ever.

The only thing that she knew for sure was that he was telling her to shoot him, to do it, and that Future Peter had told her to trust him.

She did trust him, but it didn't make it any easier.

And she felt that strong part of her take over, burn inside her chest, in the place where her heart used to be. Instead of blood and muscle she felt filled with icy determination, that stony resolve that Future Peter had said was there, even though she'd never felt it.

She put her game face on and gripped the handle of the gun. She could be strong, because he told her that she was strong. If he said it was true, then it was and she knew it was true too.

The gun stopped shaking, and she started to put pressure on the trigger.

And then Nathan swept down in front of her. He took away the worst pain she'd ever faced in her life. It almost made up for 16 years of douchebaggery on his part.

She watched as her father and her uncle shot up into the sky. A bright supernova burned hot and red, and it reflected in her eyes.

After, her Dad thought that she was upset. He kept his arm around her and tried to comfort her with kind words about her uncle and her father.

But she found she could smile and laugh and walk and eat and be a normal girl. Because she knew Peter wasn't dead. She didn't know how, but she did.

Claire knew it in her bones. It was an arcane truth, more secure than the sunrise.

-----

She threw her body against him two weeks later, so hard that she knocked him down onto the couch in his mother's living room.

He clasped her closer to him and laughed, and Claire thought she could probably die of happiness right at that moment.

-----

Claire thought that it was all over, that she had probably fulfilled whatever destiny Future Peter had needed her to.

She went back to Odessa, back to her school, back to her old friends.

Claire stayed on the cheerleading team and she started a rumour that Brody had pinworms and a little dick and Nina Mancuso backed her up and everyone laughed and after awhile Brody got kicked off the football team for attitude. Ha.

She dated Zach for most of her junior year, and the whole summer after. They have fun together, and he's nice, and funny, and he knows her secret and doesn't want to sell her to the circus.

She sent Peter silly little emails, just talking about her day or whatever, and he usually wrote back. They didn't talk about anything that mattered.

And then Zach moved to Colorado with his family and she didn't have anyone who knew, not anymore. Just her dad, who I never /I talked about it, pretended that it didn't exist. She had felt alone before, but it was nothing compared to this.

Her family exchanged Christmas cards with the Petrelli's, and she would usually go out for a few days in the summer, to see her brothers, Nathan, everyone.

She'd hang out with Peter while she was there, of course, and he was really great to her – kind and patient and he made her laugh, so hard, all the time. And sometimes, when they stopped laughing and started looking, she could feel it pulsating, running right beneath the surface, a river of molten rock that threatened to consume her. And him, if he'd let it.

Usually in those long moments, before Peter would cough and change the subject, Claire would think that she saw _him_, hidden behind the eyes of Right Now Peter. That he'd _finally _come to her and she would be done waiting and then, just like that, the moment would be gone and…nothing.

-----

Time passed. Most days she pretended that she had forgotten about Future Peter most days…and Right Now Peter as well for that matter. Some days it was almost like she had. It was just easier that way.

Which is partly why she didn't expect Future Peter to show up on the night of her Graduation.

Everyone had flown out for it. The Petrelli's, all of them, including Right Now Peter. They were all pretty nice. Nathan wasn't such a bad guy from a long distance, and Heidi was downright cool once Claire got to know her.

It was nice to have such a large personal cheering section as she walked across the stage and flipped the little tassel on her graduation hat to the right side.

The dinner after was great. They went to Claire's favorite Chinese restaurant. Everyone kept slipping her little envelopes filled with cash or a check, and Nathan and her Dad co-toasted her with a speech that made her sniffle like a baby.

Then her mother looked at her watch and said that it was time for Claire to take off for the Grad Party.

Claire had just started gathering up all her stuff and shoving it into her purse when Peter approached her. He handed her a small, white box.

"This is yours. I felt dumb because everyone else gave you cash…sorry."

"That's okay," she said easily, though her heart was beating a mile a minute underneath her pink sundress.

"You can take it back for the cash, if you want. Receipts in there," said Peter.

Claire looked at the box. "I know I'll like it," she said, and raised her other hand to start opening it.

It was a bracelet. Delicate, made of white gold, and it had tiny little diamonds studding it.

Claire lifted it out of the box, and Peter cleared his throat.

"It's, uh, not much…probably nothing compared to whatever number Nathan wrote on his check, but ah…"

Claire slipped it over her wrist.

"It's vintage, and I know, um, how much you like stuff that has, like, a history," finished Peter lamely.

"It's too much," said Claire, as she looked up at him.

"No it's not," replied Peter quickly.

"I love it," said Claire quietly, and she put her hand on his, modeling the bracelet for him to see.

And she looked deeply into his eyes, to convince him of that fact, because he was never satisfied by just plain old words.

And there was that crackling stare, that squirmy yet not-completely-uncomfortable feeling that sometimes passed between them when they looked at each other and didn't speak.

She wondered if he saw it, yet, if he could see it. Surely he must.

That's when her mother pulled her away for pictures. "Hey, wait a minute, I was talking," she protested and tried to extricate her arm from her mothers grasp.

Her mother got that sassy posture. "Well, I'm sorry Claire, but I've got to get these pictures before you go off to your fancy party."

Peter said that it was okay, he was taking off now anyway.

Claire pouted. "Why so soon?"

"Stuff," said Peter. Probably more work with Mohinder. He was doing an awful lot of that lately.

"I wish you'd stay," said Claire.

"Can't." He gave her a half-smile as he walked backwards, his hands open at his side.

She didn't get one picture with him that day.


	12. Hand of God

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

The Grad Night Party had been awful. It had been held at the Holiday Inn, and most of her classmates were full on drunk by the time she got there.

Claire could no more get drunk than she could get a paper cut. And being the only sober person in a group of drunk people pretty much sucks.

So she went home fairly early – earlier than her parents expected, for sure. She took off her high heels and crept in the back door quietly, tried not to wake anyone.

When she opened the door to her room, he was there, on the bed. Future Peter – with the same short haircut that so differentiated him from his present-day counterpart.

She didn't say a word, just grabbed him around the middle. He laughed.

"Shh, you'll wake them up," whispered Claire. It was three in the morning, but still. Her dad was a light sleeper.

"Sorry," said Peter. He set his arms gently around her.

They stood there for a long time, Claire clinging to his back with her fingers. She felt him relax and start to pull away, finally, but he had given her a nice long hug. That made her happy. She tried to subtly wipe her eyes so he wouldn't see.

"How have you been? What's new?" asked Claire, as she sat on her bed.

Peter sat down next to her. "You mean since I talked to you a couple hours ago?"

Claire looked confused. "At dinner, you mean?"

Peter smiled. "No, I mean, it was just a few hours ago that I was saying goodbye to you last time."

A few hours. For her it had been two years.

"Why are you doing it so close together?"

"Because," he said with finality, and she didn't ask him about it anymore. He had used that strong Peter voice, the one that brooked no arguments. Right Now Peter hadn't learned that tone yet.

"Is that your bracelet?" Peter gestured at her wrist.

"Yes, you gave it to me," said Claire.

"I know," said Peter softly.

"So you haven't changed that much? In the future, I mean," asked Claire.

"No." And darkness passed over his face.

She wasn't going to let him waste time on any of that. She could get plenty of that from Right Now Peter. She changed the subject.

"Do I look very different?" She stood and turned around in front of him.

"Very," he said. "Much more lady-like."

She nodded quickly. "Grown up, you mean."

He didn't say anything, and the words hung in their air between them.

She took a step closer to him, and she felt the mood change in the room. There was no way he couldn't have felt it. It vibrated in the air, and between them.

"I missed you," she whispered softly.

"Me too," said Peter lamely.

She smiled. "How could you? It's only been a few hours for you."

"Maybe it felt longer," said Peter, and she couldn't pretend to misunderstand him.

She looked at the ground and asked the question that she'd been waiting two years to speak.

"Do you love me? Does the Right Now Peter love me?"

"God, Claire…" Peter didn't finish his thought. She waited for him to finish, and when he didn't, she just kept on talking.

"I was mad. So mad at you, for a long time," said Claire.

"I know. You had every right to be," he agreed.

"You didn't tell me you were my uncle. Then. You could have told me then," said Claire.

"I really couldn't," said Peter sadly. "Nothing would have stopped you from finding Nathan, and it was too soon."

"Who cares about Nathan?" said Claire sarcastically.

"You did! A lot, if you'll remember," said Peter.

"Well now it's too late," said Claire, and stamped her foot. "I'm in too deep and it's too late!"

"It's not too late, Claire. You can stop it. I can't. I've told you that. You have to be the strong one," said Peter sadly.

"Why is it up to me? How did you know that I had to trust you?" asked Claire angrily.

"You won't like my answer," said Peter.

"Say it anyway."

He sighed. "I know because…because that's what you told me I said."

"So all of this already happened? And there's no choice, no chance for us to make things different?" asked Claire.

"I don't know, okay? I think you can change your mind, since you belong here and I don't, but I just don't know. I've thought about this till my head hurts, and its all one big circle that I don't know how to stop."

Claire considered what that meant for a few minutes, and then took a deep breath, gathering her wits.

"Do you want me to change my mind?" she asked.

He was silent.

"Peter, tell me. Do you want me to change my mind?"

When he wouldn't answer, she lost her temper.

Claire pushed him by the shoulders. "Who is doing this? Tell me!" said Claire, and she was crying now, tears of pure frustration. "This is my life, you know? It's not some guinea pig maze!"

Peter stood and tucked her head under his chin, held her quietly. "You said once that it was the Hand of God. I don't have a better answer than that."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held her for a long time as her hitching breath slowed and her sniffles evaporated into his shoulder.

Then she leaned away from him, and looked up at him. He returned her gaze for a long moment.

It was such a light kiss. One that she fluttered over his lips, little more than a soft sigh that smelled like cherry lip gloss.

And then she kissed him harder, because she didn't care that he was her uncle, and she didn't want to change things.

She felt his body shiver, and his hands dig into her waist.

Claire was never good at being the strong one.

-----

She loved Right Now Peter. _So _much. She loved spending time with him – as much as she could.

He lived in New York, and she lived in Texas, so she canceled her plans for A&M and had Nathan get her into a college sort of by New York.

Claire didn't want to live in the same town as him, necessarily. But she felt better just by the proximity – knowing she was 6 hours drive from him, if she needed him.

Besides, she had the summers with him. She would always go stay with Heidi and Nathan for part of the summer. While she was there he would take her out and about. To lunches, to movies. She loved every minute of it, even if he kept trying to treat her like a little niece.

Right Now Peter seemed to think that he couldn't time travel, or even do the zapping transporting thing. She wondered what was going to convince him that he could.

But she played along, played along so well that sometimes she thought she actually believed it – that he really was just her uncle and that their long staring sessions, ones that she swore she didn't initiate – were just an indication of some intense, familial bond.

But Claire knew better, and she would remember, usually late at night in her bed. She'd felt his lips on hers, and she had not forgotten. Had felt his hands clutch her to him, his arms around her. Not like an uncle treats his niece at all.

Claire loved Right Now Peter, but she wasn't in love with him. She loved him for the man he was becoming. Sure, he looked and acted a whole lot like the man she loved. But not quite. It wasn't quite the same.

The fact of the matter was the man she _really _loved didn't exist yet – he was waiting for her though. It had to be soon, which was a comfort, because Future Peter didn't look all that different than Right Now Peter. At least that's what she remembered in her mind. She didn't even have a picture of him.

She had to believe that he was waiting. That they hadn't somehow smashed the butterfly, that somewhere he was still waiting for her, waiting.

Always waiting.

It felt like she had been waiting for her life to start for years now.

She lived off of his last words, the promise that he made her after he kissed her on the night of her Graduation. The promise that he'd be back, one more time.

He wouldn't tell her when. Just that it would be soon.


	13. Butterfly

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

Claire started having these horrible nightmares. They got so bad that Heidi dragged her to a specialist, some guy that Right Now Peter had recommended.

Right Now Peter had started traveling with Mohinder all the time. She hardly ever saw him anymore.

Her nightmares were diagnosed as night terrors, and the doctor prescribed her sleeping pills, ones that make her fall asleep quickly and deeply.

But they don't stop her from dreaming.

In her worst nightmare, he's making love to her, and it's beautiful and sweet and perfect and just as he starts to come his face fades, and she can see the wall behind him through the thin outline of his head.

So she tries to speak but can't, and then she realizes that she's a butterfly – a half-broken butterfly, struggling under his weight.

He's vanished before she can say anything, leaves her with a heap of empty blanket above her naked body, and even though she can fly away now, she's still broken.

That's when she wakes up, crying and helpless, his name on her lips.

-----

She went to college, where she studied, partied, and had lots and lots of boyfriends. She joined a sorority and everyone was always very impressed when she'd beat the frat boys at their drinking games. She dated almost indiscriminately, a never-ending parade of boys that never lasted long.

For two long years she did this, until it got boring. She got her fill of the experience, because she knew that something else was on the horizon, and it scared her, but she pushed along down that path anyway.

She was too far down it to change her mind at this point. Wouldn't do it even if she could.

-----

She was dead asleep in her little apartment by the college in Williamsburg when he finally came to her.

She gasped when she felt him shaking her shoulder, unsure if this was really him or just another one of her dreams - the fevered one this time, the one where she encourages him to pull off all of her clothes and put his hands everywhere.

It was her one real regret in regards to him…and it was a big one. When she thought about it rationally, she recognized that it wasn't a real regret – it couldn't be. Her regret was tempered with the experience of a woman, something she hadn't been at the time.

It was that they didn't make love in her bedroom in Odessa, the night she graduated. He would of, probably, she thought. With the slightest encouragement from her.

But she had been scared, and she hadn't asked him to, and so he hadn't.

This time was going to be different. She knew that the minute she looked up at him in her dark room, recognized the precious face that she had always been half-expecting, always hoping for.

He started to say something but she put a finger to his lips. And then she pulled him wordlessly over her.

Two years ago she had been a girl. She'd worn a pink sundress and when Future Peter had kissed her she'd felt out of place and nervous – her ankles had seemed wobbly and she'd clung to him to steady her.

He had been so sweet to her though – so gentle. He'd kissed her thoroughly, and hadn't asked for more.

This time she found no reticence in herself – no nervous shaking in her thighs as he crouched over her body, ran his hands up her arms. He wasn't nervous either, just seemed…eager. And tender.

Her wait had almost ended, and this was the beginning.

He kissed her deeply, and the moonlight from her window spilled over them as he pushed her shirt up and hurriedly clawed off his own.

When he spread his body over hers, she felt that same arcane recognition vibrate through them – that the bones that were rubbing over her right now were the closest to a home she was ever going to get.

She covered his hands with her own as they trailed up her body, and nearly choked on her own breath as he touched her.

She ran her hands up his torso, over his face, drank in every detail. Every kiss could be her last with him, she was painfully aware of that fact, even now.

His mouth was hard and aching and it made her want to call foul, to pause the playback, or something, because she could barely breathe, and it felt like she was dying, quietly, because every movement was perfect and she wanted to savour every second of this, spend minutes analyzing every feeling that was trembling through her.

But it kept escalating, kept going a step further, and pretty soon he was _right there_ and she hooked her feet around to the back of his knees and pulled on his arms until he was in.

He went very, very still. His eyes were on hers – just as excited, and maybe a little scared now, too. She smiled at him softly, encouragingly.

He kissed her deeply and whispered a few words to her, and then he began to move.

Her breath hitched, and she found she couldn't speak.

Even if she could, she'd have nothing to say.

This was how it was supposed to be from the beginning.

-----

She was alone when she woke up, the sheets twisted around her body, her hair rumpled up on her forehead. She sat up and felt the familiar groggy ache in the back of her skull, courtesy of those stupid sleeping pills.

He was gone. She'd expected that, but it still hurt when faced with the reality of the situation.

She saw the bottle on her bed stand, and frowned.

Those little buggers are the reason she kept falling asleep last night. She had questions that she had wanted to ask him, damn it. All she seemed to have been able to do was roll over and wrap her legs around him and fall asleep after.

She hadn't been lucid enough to actually _think_, and too tired to stay awake.

She had needed to ask him when he was coming back. He better be coming back.

And she frowned again at the sleeping pills on her desk.

That was when she saw the envelope next to them.

It was already ripped open. It had a few pieces of paper in it, and a small key.

Claire's fingers scrambled over the envelope, and pulled out the first piece of paper that she touched.

_Hi Claire_

_Sorry I had to leave so fast. I've already been here too long, though…_

Her eyes widened as she continued reading.

-----

It was a year and a half since that morning, since the first time she'd read that letter. Claire shook her head, the memories washing over her and then receding, pulling away like the tide.

And what was left was Peter, Right Now Peter, who was still standing there, pinned against the door in her apartment, scared shitless because she had just told him that Danny was his son.

"Peter, you don't have to be afraid, or shy. I know you well, so well. You don't have to pretend with me." She smiled at him tremulously, trying to help him make this transition as smoothly as possible.

"What. What are you talking about?" said Peter shakily. He was frightened, nearly out of his wits. She could see the fear and confusion in his eyes.

She tried to speak plainly and soothingly. "Listen. Just listen. I'm going to try and explain it to you the way he told me to."

"Who?" asked Peter, his mouth remaining open with shock.

She paused. Was there any better way to say this?

"You," said Claire. "You told me."

Peter's voice was high-pitched and upset. "What the hell does that mean? What I told you? I didn't tell you anything!"

"You're right," said Claire calmly. "It's just that we - that you and I have a history here. A pretty extensive one."

His eyes continued to roll over her, scared and a little bit suspicious.

"Here. I'm supposed to give you this," she said, and held an envelope out to him. He flinched away from it at first, like it was diseased or something.

"Sorry, by the way, that it's opened. It was already opened when I got it," said Claire. She shook the envelope at him, and he finally took it.

"What the hell is this?" he said, and pulled out a sheet of paper. "This is my handwriting."

It was a beat up piece of paper, much-folded and ripped on one corner. Written on it were many scrawled lines, all in Peter's unique chicken scratch hand.

He looked at her with confusion. "But I didn't write this," said Peter. "I know I didn't write this."

"I know," said Claire, and she raised her hands up. "Don't shoot the messenger here, okay? You told me to give that to you."

"I did?" asked Peter.

"Yes. You. Future You."

"I can't time travel," said Peter shortly.

Claire spoke primly. "I assure you that you can."

"_I don't. Know how. To do it_," said Peter condescendingly.

"You do."

He gave her a dirty look, and turned his eyes back to the paper. "What are all these dates?"

Claire smiled. "These are the dates that you came to visit me."

"September 2006. I didn't even know you then."

"I know," said Claire. "But you came back because you had to help me. You helped me stay alive."

Peter was still confused, still pissed, but his ears snapped to attention at the mention of keeping Claire alive. "What did I do?"

"You made me trust you," said Claire, smiling up at him. "You made me trust you, and you told me to follow my instincts. It kept me alive, you know – it's what made me run to New York…it's what made me do everything. I'd have probably died if I'd stayed in Odessa during that time."

He looked at her blankly.

She sighed, and pointed at the paper. "You came to visit me, on those dates. And you changed things for the better."

"Are you saying…are you saying on one of those visits that I…" Peter ran a hand over his forehead.

"Not necessarily," said Claire with a shrug. "Besides. You can always change things. You did back then, after all."

Peter looked very pale, and Claire sighed. "Take them. You should take them and go back to your apartment. You'll figure it out from there. The rules are in there, too."

"Rules?"

"The other piece of paper, see?" She pulled out another slip of paper, one that was not as folded and stained. "Just read them before you go," she said exasperatedly.

Peter put a hand on the doorknob. "I told you, I can't time travel."

"And I told you that you can," said Claire, and she rolled her eyes. "Figure it out."

He frowned as he jerked the door open, and didn't say goodbye before he left.

Claire smiled.

Sometimes her Future needed a little push.


	14. I Know It's Over

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

------------------------

Peter stumbled out of Claire's apartment and down the steps of her building. He somehow flagged a cab and made it back to his place. His brain was reeling, racing with all sorts of thoughts that he was having a hard time shutting off.

He thought about it for a minute, and then he threw the door of his freezer open, reached for the clear glass bottle inside.

And then he drank. A lot. He got good and drunk and then he threw up, twice, and fell asleep on the floor of his bathroom.

He felt better the next morning. He took a shower and combed his hair and talked to himself in the mirror and at some points he wondered if he was going crazy but crazy people think they're sane, so he was probably okay.

Then he sat down on his couch. He read the rules, over and over, and tucked them into the pocket of his jacket. That was the easy part.

He had a mission, and whenever he had a mission – an important one - it was always easier to concentrate.

This was important.

Still, the only time he'd successfully done a spatial jump was when Claire was giving birth. And then he'd barely thought about it, just pinched his eyes shut and thought about her, and there he was.

He'd tried to do a spatial jump hundreds of times since then. He'd even had Hiro try to coach him. He never had any luck.

How could he could he travel in time if he couldn't even do a spatial jump?

The first date on the list in his hand stared at him. He thought of Claire at sixteen. That was almost five years ago. She'd had long hair then. Curls that bounced over the back of her cheerleading uniform.

Claire.

Suddenly his living room seemed to expand and grow taller. Peter pinched his eyes shut and rubbed them forcefully.

When he opened his eyes he was in a teenage girl's room, and he could hear the sound of a shower tap squeaking.

He was only a little surprised to find that the reason he'd never been able to time travel before was apparently his lack of a certain catalyst.

-----

That morning, Claire bounced Danny on her knee, his tiny fingers gripping onto hers.

He was a morning baby – loved to be up with the sun, loved to eat his breakfast early and then settle down to the busy work of playing with his toys and having his mother read to him.

She read books to him in twenty different voices, each one making Danny chuckle and demand more.

There was lightness in the heart of Claire, warmth in a place that had only known steely determination for a long time.

Determination was a fine sentiment on its own, for sure. But Claire preferred this new emotion, the one that made her feel light as air.

-----

It was his third visit, the third time that he'd waited impatiently in his apartment, counting down the minutes. To jump back, to go back to her.

He paced the floor, and fitfully slept for a few hours at a time. He ate very little and was mostly concentrated on the task at hand as he waited.

She was adorable – a completely innocent child. She was sixteen and she smiled at him with her teeth and her laugh seemed to come a lot easier at that age – a thought that saddens him to the core when he realizes it.

He doesn't want to corrupt that. From the first minute he sees her in her funny little bathrobe, he tries to be nothing but easygoing and friendly toward her. He forces his face into a steady grin that, after awhile, comes pretty naturally.

There is going to be plenty of intense conversations in her life to come, and he'll be damned if he's going to add to that torment right now.

Claire at sixteen is so heartbreakingly open to him. He can ask her anything, and she'll tell him what she thinks, what she feels. It's remarkably honest and…intimate. So unlike how Claire treats him in the future.

It's his fault she's that way. It's the only thing that makes sense.

The good part is that he is _not tempted_. In fact he feels terribly old around her. He's thirty-one now, old enough to be this Claire's father, sort of.

He won't let himself think of what she said about Danny. Can't even go there.

It's like the rules said, the ones that were written in his hand, the ones that he carefully memorized after the first time he went back. They're pretty bare bones, but he sticks to them rigidly.

-_Don't share details._

_-Don't mess with stuff you shouldn't._

_-Try not to move around too much._

_-Get Claire to trust you, and her instincts. She has to know that she can rely on you. It's going to save her life._

That last line is the entire reason he's even doing this.

Peter didn't know who wrote these rules. The handwriting is so obviously his own, or else he'd declare some sort of treachery.

He thought long and hard after that first visit. About why it would be so important to bond Claire to himself, why her instincts were something she needed to learn to listen to. He thought about it for hours. He had nothing _but _hours to think.

And then he formulated a sort of theory. He was always, always surprised at the beginning there how much she had trusted him – how she ran to New York to hide with him, how she always seemed to willingly cling to him, to let him take care of her.

It had never made sense, but he'd never questioned it…just accepted it for what it was. He can't believe that he was ever that naïve.

She trusted him from day one because of the dates on the little piece of paper in his hand – the dates that he will visit her. When he'll talk to her and make her feel comfortable and then in a couple months she will run to him to keep her safe. Which is why he keeps coming, now.

As for the paper…is it the chicken or the egg? He doesn't know. It's a circle – some weird, infuriating circle that Claire calls the Hand of God one night, just before she falls asleep in her bed.

And maybe it is.

He waits the clock out, watches the hands as the seconds tick past, and he keeps going.

His acceptance of the reality behind the situation doesn't mean that he accepts the fact that he, that _he _is that father of Danny. That part is not relative to keeping Claire safe. That part is nothing more than him being weak, and he is _not _going to be weak.

He's going to change this messed-up destiny. He is.

-----

Claire brought a book by the Petrelli home one night, under the guise that Monty had said he wanted to read it.

She caught Nathan and Heidi at home, and they greet her warmly, happy she had come for a visit. Claire smiled shakily. They seem normal. Apparently her Dad hasn't told the Petrelli's.

Nathan drops everything and snuggles Danny to him, tosses him wildly into the air. Heidi kisses his cheeks with a loud smack.

The cat's not out of the bag, not here at least. Yet. Claire's smile is so relieved that Heidi mistakes it for a joke, and teases Nathan mercilessly about the baby-talk voice he uses to speak to Danny.

Claire stays for a cup of tea and some lemon cake that the cook pulls out of the pantry. In the middle of it all, Nathan looks up at her.

"Have you seen Peter lately?" Nathan asks abruptly, like it's something he's just now realized.

"Um, no…not in a couple days…" said Claire.

"Me neither," said Nathan. "That's odd."

"I think he's pretty busy with some work, or something. Yeah, I think he said something about that," said Claire.

"Ah. Right, right," said Nathan, and he asked Heidi if they were still going to some luncheon the next day.

Just a typical visit.

-----

Peter was lying on her bed. She slept quietly; the sixteen-year-old version of Claire Bennet, snuggled into the crook of his arm. It was his second to the last night with this person.

Only three more dates remained on his little piece of paper.

He needed a plan. Badly. He balled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his forehead, resisted the urge to punch himself there repeatedly.

Claire moved in her sleep, rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

One date, the one tomorrow night, was to say goodbye, to remind her of the rules, of how to keep herself safe. She'd meet Right Now Peter the next night at her Homecoming game.

Another date was her two years from now. God knows why. Does she need him? Does he need to be there to prevent something? It could be nothing at all, but the date is there and he doesn't think he should risk skipping it.

Which is beside the point, really, because the real trouble is…

The last one. He had just calculated the dates in his head, twice, and now he knows, knows very well what that last date means.

Idiot. He's dense. He should have figured it out before now. Peter rubbed his eyes.

In a way, it's good though. Now the decision is all the easier, right? He knows the exact date that is going to result in a small baby with his eyes and her curls and his torso and God, he was a fool for not figuring it out earlier.

Maybe he had always known, and just couldn't face it.

At the beginning of his visits to Claire, he would have declared this conversation currently hurtling through his mind A Joke. The _real _Peter wouldn't be thinking twice about this. It was wrong, very wrong, and he knew better.

So what was the problem? He has the dates. He knows how to prevent it. And yet…he found himself hesitating.

He hesitated about a lot of stuff. About the way Danny's eyes would crinkle when he saw Peter walk into Claire's apartment. About Danny's strong legs, how they balance so proudly, so confidently on the tiny platform of Peter's hands.

And most of all, he thinks about Danny's mouth. It looks just like hers.

He told her, the sixteen-year-old her, that only she can make a change if she wants it. He made up some lie about it being her time so she's the one that holds the power. That's not true though. He just wants to offer her a way out if she wants it, a way to change her mind and her future. It's only fair.

He wishes he could stop it – well, not exactly. He wishes that he could _want _to stop it. But he doesn't.

He's powerless against this. Against her.

Peter sighed, then hugged her closer. She shifted against him.

The moon created all sorts of shadows and hollows on Claire's face, on her sleeping face next to him.

For a moment, she looks old. Like, grandma age. And it's beautiful, the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

a/n one more chapter left!


	15. A Prelude for Time Feelers

**Disclaimer **: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Claire settled herself onto her couch, wary not to muss her carefully arranged hair. She pulled a small compact from the pocket of her dress, and dabbed at her lipstick.

Danny was napping quietly in his room, and Claire leaned forward to light the candle on her coffee table.

Her toes wriggled with excitement in her high-heeled sandals, the fresh manicure bright and sparkling.

She glanced at the time on her phone. Not long now.

She pulled a battered fold of paper from the pocket of her dress. She could probably recite this thing word for word now. But she wanted to read it one more time, just for sentimental reasons.

It was the letter that had had her name on it, the one that she'd found by her bed, the morning after Future Peter had made love to her. The act that had created the sleeping child in the room down the hall.

This was what had got her through two years of waiting. Two years that had been frustrating and difficult, but was going to be well worth it in the end.

Claire lovingly unfolded the letter.

_Hi Claire_

_Sorry I had to leave so fast. I've already been here too long, though. Plus you were asleep, and you looked really happy. I didn't want to wake you up._

_I admit that it's easier this way too, both for you and for me. Saying goodbye is something that I hate more than anything in the world, and you and I have had to do it way too often._

_I don't want to leave. I hope you know that. I never wanted to leave you. But I have to, of course, and, as you can see, this is the last date on the piece of paper. So I won't be coming back anymore._

_I wish that wasn't true. I wish I could just ignore the dates that are written on that piece of paper, but I don't dare. They haven't steered us wrong yet, so I am going to trust whoever is at the helm of this ship and go back to my present day._

_I hope you'll be waiting there. I know you'll be waiting there._

_Read the stuff in the envelope. Give me the sheet of paper with the rules on it and the one with the dates as well on the night I find out about the baby. When I find out the truth. And no, I don't know who wrote them. It's in my handwriting but it wasn't me that wrote it._

_You keep this letter, though. I wrote it for you._

_The key is to a locker, #3227 in the Newport Airport. I put some money in there for you. Don't scrimp, okay? Get a big apartment if you want. Spend a lot of it, and don't get a job. It won't be too much longer now, anyway._

_Now, Claire. I don't know if you know this, I don't know how you could, but here goes. It takes 5 hours and 40 minutes for me to recover from a time jump. I don't know why it works that way for me, but it does._

_After I would jump back to see you in the past, I would go back to my apartment. In my time. Then I had 5 hours and 40 minutes before I could jump again. I hated it. I hated the waiting. I would set my watch and just pace the floors until it was time. I could barely sleep or eat, I was so anxious._

_Of course, there was plenty of time. Time to think about what we'd talked about, to sit in my apartment and think about what it all meant._

_It has been a little over four years for you since the first time you saw me. When you nearly beat my head in with your tumbling trophy._

_It's been a little under five days for me since that all happened. Five days since you gave me the dates._

_You asked me once if Right Now Peter loved you. I didn't answer, because I was scared and stupid, and I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I would be able to talk you (and myself) out of this._

_And at first I really thought I could. For the first couple visits, I really thought I could._

_But I realize now how naïve I was, to think I could change something that was already decided, years ago. Yes, Claire, the Right Now Peter loves you. The person you call Future Peter loves you too. I started loving you the minute I saw you in the hallway of your high school, the minute I saw you give me that secret smile. Like you knew something, and I didn't._

_And I was right. You had a secret. You knew something about me that I spent a long time denying, though it didn't take me too long to figure it out._

_I wanted to ask you then what it was you knew, but I didn't because I thought you were just a high school student and I was an old man (remember?)._

_When I found out that you were Nathan's daughter, I tried to forget, and I started to build up that wall around myself, the one that allowed me to act like a semi-indifferent family member around you._

_All that was a lie. I never felt like your uncle. I never was indifferent._

_When you gave me this paper with the rules and the dates on it, I thought that I would be able to undo all of this. I u promised /u myself that I would come back and change things. I was committed. I had decided that nothing was going to stop me. I swore that I was only going to come to the first few days that were listed. Just long enough to get you to trust me, so you would come to New York and be safe._

_I was, under no circumstances, going to fall in love with you more than I already was._

_Five days, Claire. That's all it took for you to undo all of the promises I made to myself. Years of promises that I made - ones about honor and what's really right._

_I don't care about any of that anymore. I only care about you._

_And you didn't do it with any wiles or tricks, or special powers. You were just being the smart, kind, funny person that you are._

_I love you. You are my every hope, dream, and desire personified. I don't want to live my life without you, and I've decided that I am not going to._

_I'm coming back now, back to the time I belong in. It's all very quick for me, and convenient. It doesn't seem fair. I know you're going to have some tough times ahead of you. I'm sorry that I couldn't be there for you. I'm so sorry._

_But I am going to make it up to you, if you'll still have me. And I'll understand if you don't. You have every right in the world to be pissed at me, and I wouldn't blame you if you hated me for the rest of your life._

_But try not to be too mad. Because I really want to hold you – I can't wait to just be able to hold you and not have to worry about smashing the butterfly and to talk to you about these things. To plan our future together._

_Don't worry about all the drama. None of it matters. Because we are going to make it work. I am going to make it work. I want to finish up this letter just so I can hurry and do that._

_But I have to write this, to give you something to lean on in the difficult times ahead. You're going to take a lot of shit on my behalf, and Right Now Me is a clueless moron and I'm sorry that he is. But I swear to you that I am going to make it up to you – I swear that I am going to do nothing but dedicate myself to making you happy for the rest of our lives._

_This is the last time that I am going to say goodbye to you. I promise._

_I love you, Claire. Stay strong. I'm coming back right now._

_Peter_

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Someone knocked loudly at her door, and she dropped the letter onto the couch beside her. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor in her haste. He was earlier than she expected.

She threw the door open.

Five days ago, Right Now Peter had left her apartment, shaking and scared.

Standing in her doorway now was Future Peter, smiling at her with eyes that seemed to know her every secret. And he did, now.

"Claire."

Her hands covered her nose and mouth. She'd imagined this moment a million, trillion times, but it had never included her crying. But now her shoulders were shaking and she was sure her makeup was going to run, and she'd so desperately wanted to look nice for him.

He stopped smiling.

"You're here…" she sniffed. "You're here." She wiped her eyes awkwardly and didn't know where to put her hands.

"If you want me to be," he said softly.

"If I..._If I want you to be_?" Her voice squeaked. "Are you high?"

She saw relief begin to break over his face, and she spoke grumpily. "Of course I want you, you idio-"

Claire was interrupted by a forceful grip that made her gasp, and then he was holding her tight against him and pressing kisses all over her wet face.

"I'm sorry, I was-" said Peter.

"Shut up," said Claire, and pulled his mouth back to hers. She kissed him eagerly, pressing against him with all her strength. He was sort of half-walking, half-dragging her into the apartment.

Some time later she pulled away, briefly, and slammed her front door shut. She wrapped her arms around his neck, couldn't bear to have her body away from his.

"What are we going to do about Nathan? And my dad," she said shakily as he kissed her neck.

"I don't know. I don't know, I don't care." He said it like he meant it, and went for her mouth again.

She giggled. "Seriously!" He kissed her for a long moment, swallowing all her laughter that was laced with a tiny bit of worry.

"It's all going to work out, I know it." He ran his hand over her forehead, and she smiled, feeling that wonderful feeling of trust shake through her. This was the Peter who made her feel safe, made her know that…

"I'm gonna make it work." He held her face in his hands, leaned his forehead against hers. "I promised you it would work out and it will, okay? I'm not even worried about it. You shouldn't be either."

She sighed with relief. This was the Peter that knew his own mind, and anyone who got in the way of that could just go to hell. Thank God. Thank God.

His hands slid into her hair, and she watched his eyes grow warm and golden. "God, your hair. I love your hair."

Her back was against the wall and she smiled with pure pleasure as he kissed her harder. For a long time. It might have been hours, and she loved every precious minute of it. Things were escalating again, like they had in her apartment long ago, and she started to pull him into the bedroom. To the big, sunny bed that she'd bought knowing how nice he would look in it. Next to her.

Peter pressed her against the wall in the hallway, and kissed her deeply. She could see the bedroom door. They were almost there when he broke their kiss unexpectedly, and pulled away from her.

"Danny." He blinked. "My son! I want my son," said Peter with a huge grin on his face.

"He's asleep," said Claire shakily, straightening her hair and gulping a few deep breaths. "We could wake him up, if you want," she said happily, and she skipped to the table by the entryway. "I could show you these first, though."

Peter followed her closely.

"I took a million pictures of him, remember? You always told me I was dumb for taking so many." Her arms were filled with several large photo albums, props that hid the trembling in her arms quite well until they ceased.

Peter looked over her shoulder, and stood very close to her as she spoke. "There's more in the back, too - tons. I took some every day. Video, too, but that's on the computer…"

Peter grabbed the album that was on top, and opened it. Peter's handsome face was fascinated as he flipped through a series of photos showing Danny eating a red popsicle, his baby face sticky and pink and beaming.

Claire chuckled at the memory of that day. "I've got video of that one too. You should have seen the laundry that day."

He thumbed through the rest of the pages quickly. "You took these for me?"

She nodded. "Yeah. You couldn't be there, but I knew you'd want to see…someday."

He turned his face from the album, and set it on the table. He gently unloaded the heavy books from her arms, and set his hands on her shoulders, lightly.

"You're amazing. Thank you...geez. I'm sorry you had to do this on your own."

"It's okay…I had a choice, you know. I could have changed things. But I didn't want to…I wanted things to be this way," said Claire.

She stepped forward against his chest, and he sighed and wrapped his arms around her.

He leaned away from her for a bit, and looked at her. "I'm glad you did. I don't get why, but…I'm glad."

"What do you mean?" asked Claire.

"I mean, I can't believe how hard this must have been for you. And you knew how hard it was going to be…but you did it anyway."

"Of course I did," she said bluntly.

He just looked at her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but it was so I painfully /I obvious. "I love you, you know," said Claire simply. "Loved you since I first saw you. I never wanted anyone else…not really."

He took a short little breath, like she'd just said something that hurt him, and she thought she saw his eyes tear up, but that would have been silly. He looked away from her abruptly.

When he looked back, she realised that she wasn't looking at Future Peter anymore. He was In The Past Peter, Right Now Peter, and Future Peter all at once. From now on, he was all of them. From now on, he was just Peter.

Her wait was finally over when she felt his lips on hers.

_fin. _

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author's notes-

thanks so much for reading and **especially for reviewing**. not to be a feedback whore, but it's so very much appreciated when you take the time to drop me a line.

this fic is very indebted to the book 'the time travelers wife' by audrey niffenegger for its ideas regarding the logistics of time travel. it gave me a place to start and work out from. i should probably also mention roswell and donnie darko for that same reason. time travel is a messy business. all the liberties and inconsistencies (which are unavoidably, really) are my own fault, and hopefully didn't deter you from enjoying the story.

finally, each of the chapter titles in this story are songs that i listened to whilst writing this, and i thought they fit well. they are as follows: 1-time stops by explosions in the sky, 2-this side of the blue by joanna newsome, 3-johnny come lately by catatonia, 4-hide and seek by imogen heap, 5-bachelorette by bjork, 6-dirty business by the dresden dolls, 7-another lifetime by alexandre desplat, 8-he can only hold her by amy winehouse, 9-branches by midlake, 10-secret smile by semisonic, 11-bones by the killers, 12-hand of god by fall out boy (okay i lied - i have never heard this song, but i wanted that title), 13-butterfly by weezer, 14-i know it's over by the smiths, 15-prelude for time feelers by eluvium


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